


Cinereous Skies

by Silbrith



Series: Caffrey Conversation [26]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, White Collar
Genre: Gen, Mystery, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: Neal and Peter's abduction to a distant planet leads to the unmasking of a secret conspiracy. Neal learns the truth about who he is. Arkham Files story #4, a blend of White Collar and the world of the Cthulhu Mythos.





	1. The Crystal Manuscript

_Notes: In Arkham Files, the characters from the Caffrey Conversation AU are placed in the world of the Cthulhu Mythos. Cinereous Skies takes place after the events in the third Arkham Files story, The Crypt_ _._ _In the first chapter I've included a short recap of the main events for new readers. I've also written short summaries of the previous three Arkham Files stories for our blog,_ _[Penna Nomen& Silbrith Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/)_ _._ _The post is called "_[ _Inside the Arkham Files Vault_](http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/05/inside-arkham-files-vault.html) _."  
_

* * *

 

**Miskatonic University, Arkham, Massachusetts. Friday, November 14, 1975.**

"Professor Carter!"

Neal spun around to see Charlene waving at him as she determinedly plowed a path through the crowd of students coming down the main stairway at Wingate Hall at Miskatonic University. Charlene was in his Anglo-Saxon seminar. A junior, she was earnest to the point of being obsessed. She was president of the college's Middle-earth club, and Neal suspected she dreamed of becoming the next J.R.R. Tolkien. For that glorious future to come to pass, she believed the essential first step was a mastery of Anglo-Saxon.

It was disheartening that she had so little aptitude for languages.

Not that Charlene realized that. She'd latched upon Neal to be her Gandalf on the road to enlightenment. The path ahead was a dangerous one, fraught with harrowing obstacles. The dragon confronting her at the moment was her final paper. The selection of a subject had turned into an agonizing process not only for her but for him as well. Neal steeled himself for another onslaught of questions.

He'd arrived at the front entrance a few minutes earlier and taken his designated position by the bulletin board to meet Peter. Their last classes of the morning concluded at the same time and they'd agreed to walk over to the library together.

Charlene's face was eloquent of distress as she approached him. "I just heard that you won't be teaching the lecture on Science of Language anymore. Tell me it's not true."

"Professor Whipple is an outstanding scholar," he reminded her. "She's the head of the department and —"

"—but she can't be as inspiring as you!" she interrupted. "When you lecture, you transform language into an art form. Your words are like poetry." Before Neal could divert her onto another subject, any subject—her final paper, for instance—she plunged ahead. "You'll still have office hours for students, won't you? Can I come to you with my questions?" As she continued to plead her case, Neal saw Peter walking down the stairs. He slowed down as he approached them, apparently amused by Neal's efforts to placate his student.

"You should give Professor Whipple a fair chance," Neal said finally, cutting short her entreaties. He attempted to use Peter's no-nonsense voice which was so effective on his own students.

"Professor Carter may be away on field work in December," Peter added.

Charlene reacted with horror. "You can't! You're scheduled to speak to our club in December. Can you meet with us next Thursday?"

Neal knew Charlene. When it came to Tolkien, she would haunt his office until he agreed. A few minutes later, Charlene left satisfied, having extracted his commitment to the new date and a promise to discuss the dreaded paper with her on Monday.

"Are all your students reacting the same way to the news?" Peter asked after she headed back upstairs.

"Pretty much," Neal admitted. "When Marjorie offered to take over the lecture, I didn't realize it would cause such a furor. I'll be happy to escape to the library vault."

In the wake of their discovery of an ancient artifact underneath a mausoleum in Arkham, his and Peter's lives had been transformed. The disk, dated to 6,000 BC, was composed of a bronze alloy containing trace amounts of algolnium, a chemical element which had only been awarded preliminary recognition a couple of weeks ago.

The university president was now lending Miskatonic's full support to their research into the civilization which had crafted it. He'd arranged for both Peter and Neal to have reduced teaching loads. A major benefactor to the university, Gideon Talmadge, offered to back the effort. The fact that the disk enabled them to seal a wormhole to another world was a closely guarded secret for now. How would the public react to the news that Earth had likely been visited in its remote past by extraterrestrials? Until more evidence was obtained, they'd probably all be branded as crackpots.

Marjorie Whipple, a senior professor of linguistics in Neal's department, had been delegated to teach his lecture course as well as substitute for his other teaching assignments as needed. No longer would Neal and Peter be forced to sacrifice their free time for research. Assisting Peter was Eleanor Templeton, the head of the archaeology department. "I suspect Eleanor is getting as much an earful as Marjorie," Neal commented. "Having your professor reassigned midterm can be a traumatizing ordeal."

Peter shrugged. "It's character building. What was the club Charlene was talking about?"

Neal told him about the Middle-earth group. "When she found out I have photos of Tolkien's home and study—even the tree which inspired Tolkien to create Ents—she insisted I meet with them."

"You're teaching Anglo-Saxon. You were at Oxford last year. No wonder she's fixated on you." Peter pointed to a poster on the bulletin board. "Did you meet Professor Dittlesworth when you were there?"

The poster had been tacked in a prominent spot. Illustrated with a colorful image of a Hyacinth Macaw, the text read: _The Amazon comes to Miskatonic! One night only. Phineas Dittlesworth, renowned Professor of Ornithology at Oxford University will present a lecture on Amazonian birdlife at the Wingate Hall of Humanities on Wednesday, November 19._

"I used to run along the River Cherwell where I'd see him leading bird walks. I sometimes stopped to chat with the group."

"El and I plan to attend. Dittlesworth has written articles in _Archaeology Review_ about the connection between birds and ancient ruins. He's made quite a study of the subject, pointing out how a careful observation of bird behavior can be used as a tool to discover hidden sites."

They turned away from the bulletin board and exited the building. Neal buttoned his wool overcoat. A cold wind was blowing through the university quad. The trees had lost their leaves a month ago and were now mere skeletons. The library was set on an isolated knoll on the hilly campus—a brisk walk away.

Neal hadn't seen Phineas since Oxford. He'd spent the previous year there while finishing his PhD thesis. Would Phineas remember him? Even though it was only a short while ago, he was so absentminded, it was unlikely. Now if Neal were a bird, the odds would be much higher.

"When Kate visited me over Christmas, we joined his group on a couple of walks," Neal said.

"I didn't realize you're into birding," Peter said, turning up his coat collar. "El will be delighted. She'll ask you to come along on our field trips."

"I dabble," Neal corrected. "Kate was the birder, not me."

"Ah yes, birding can make a great excuse for romantic strolls around Lake Whittier."

The wooded path surrounding the campus lake was a favorite destination for couples, and yes, he and Kate had made the circuit many times. Neal took it as a sign of progress that he could revisit those memories without them being too painful. He slanted a glance at Peter. "You sound as if you speak from personal knowledge."

"I proposed on one of those walks," Peter confided. "My scheme was to wear her down by walking around the lake so many times, she'd relent simply to stop the torture."

"A tall tale if I ever heard one." Peter and his wife Elizabeth were the perfect couple.  More likely Elizabeth had planted the idea of a walk to encourage him to pop the question.

"So tell me, what's Dittlesworth like?"

"He's one of those quintessential British eccentrics who are lampooned on _Monty Python_. His standard wardrobe consists of safari clothing complete with pith helmet, even in winter. I half-expected to see a bird poking out from one of his pockets."

"We should go to the lecture together," Peter declared. "Come to our house for dinner first. Would you like to invite Sara to join us?"

He cocked a brow as if expecting Neal to give him grief, and earlier in the month Neal might have. That was when Sara was merely his fake girlfriend. She'd tossed him a life preserver when she made the offer at the start of the school year. Neal had enough of a challenge learning the ropes of teaching, but some of his students were much more fascinated with him than their assignments. He supposed it was understandable. Since he'd skipped several years, he was about the same age as many of them.

Sara liked to tease him that they didn't view him as Gandalf but Aragorn. And if Aragorn didn't latch onto Arwen, he was doomed. Neal could lecture till he was blue in the face that he was no Aragorn. His sword skills were non-existent. In hand-to-hand combat he might as well surrender out of the gate. As for Sara being Arwen . . . She might be many things but elf-maiden was not the first image that came to mind.

She countered that he was so appealing precisely because he was still mourning Kate. His situation was similar to Aragorn's, the man who lived the life of an exile, denied from being with the woman he loved.

Whatever.

Sara was between boyfriends and volunteered to help him out. He and Kate had hung out with Sara as undergrads. Maintaining the pretense was easier than he'd expected, and the plan had worked. Once his students saw them together, they quickly got the message.

But the fake girlfriend nonsense had been cast aside. Sara was now someone much more meaningful.

She'd graduated to her new role of private investigator, and she was a natural at it. She'd majored in journalism and was now an investigative reporter for the _Arkham Gazette_. There was nothing Sara loved more than a mystery, and Neal had mysteries in spades for her.

"Thanks for the invitation," Neal said. "Sara arrived back in Arkham today. I'm meeting her this evening at the coffeehouse, and will ask her. Sara's not a birder, but her dreams of being an international investigative journalist may include the Amazon."

"Do you know if she's included Egypt in her plans?"

Neal stopped, suddenly suspicious. Peter was organizing a series of expeditions to search for more artifacts. At the top of his list was Abydos, an ancient site in Egypt. A predynastic tomb in that archaeologically-significant region was where Peter had discovered a soapstone carved in the shape of a starfish. Neal's sensitivity to the object had led to the discovery of algolnium. Sara knew about Abydos and had been vocal in her envy of the trip. Had she taken matters into her own hands?

"Talmadge called me about her," said Peter. "I wasn't surprised. We both knew that once she found out about our plans she wouldn't stop until she wrangled a way to go with us."

Neal sighed. "The woman has the persistence of a mockingbird. I used to call her a news-ferret but she's gone beyond that."

"I'm glad you changed her title. Ferret is too close to weasel, and Sara's not a weasel."

"What did Sara do?" Neal asked uneasily.

"Your mockingbird made an appointment to meet with Talmadge this morning. She pleaded in no uncertain terms that a journalist needed to be present to document any discoveries we'd make. Talmadge called me to talk about it. That's why I was running late."

Neal groaned. That was the problem with mockingbirds. Never content to sit on the sidelines or consult with others first. "Was he upset?"

"He didn't appear to be. Sara had prepared an extensive portfolio of her work. She must have spent several nights cramming on ancient Egyptian history. Talmadge said he could hardly get a word in edgewise. Didn't she tell you anything about this?"

"Not a word."

Peter made a halfhearted attempt to restrain his laughter. "Fascinating. Especially since she claimed we were her colleagues and in full support of her inclusion."

"Why didn't she check with us first?"

"Hey, don't ask me. She's your fake girlfriend, not mine."

Sara had returned to Arkham last night. She'd finagled an assignment from her newspaper to cover a story in Providence and had used the opportunity to research an armillary sphere in Mozzie's possession. He'd purchased the ancient astronomical instrument after a ghast attempted to steal it from a local shop.

A couple of weeks ago Neal discovered that the brass rings surrounding the sphere were inscribed in an unknown language which was apparently the same as the script embedded in the crystal manuscript. That priceless relic in the library vault was a slab of translucent quartz-like material. Deciphering its language had become an even higher priority since they discovered the ancient disk in the mausoleum was inscribed with the same script. They now had three objects—a disk dating back thousands of years, an armillary sphere from the Renaissance and a crystal slab of unknown origin—all bearing the same unknown language.

Deciphering the crystal manuscript had at first seemed unfeasible. How do you even start to decode three-dimensional intricate threads of Gordian knot complexity? Recently, however, Neal had reason for optimism.

He’d discovered that if he let his eyes unfocus while staring at an unknown script, gradually it would make sense. Neal had first used the technique to translate the _Necronomicon_ appendices, a challenge which had also appeared near impossible to master.

Mozzie said it was comparable to his experience when he observed the night sky. In a flash insight, he saw underlying cosmological patterns—links which connected his observations to the structure of the universe. Mozzie had discussed the topic with a colleague in India who called it the flash of knowledge which comes from meditation. Some mathematicians had it when they looked at formulas. For Neal, it was languages. 

A Eureka effect or osmosis? Sara called him a psychic linguist. Whatever it was, Neal was convinced the crystal manuscript would follow the same pattern. A path forward now existed for what had before seemed unattainable. Understanding why was of lesser importance.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When they reached the library vault, Peter signed in for both of them while Neal chatted with the guard, Ephraim Nash. His job was a lonely one. The vault's formidable guardian, the head librarian Lavinia Armitage, granted access privileges to only a select few. Many of the treasures were unique copies and literally priceless. Despite their value, there had never been any attempts to break into the vault that Peter was aware of.

Ephraim had retired from the police force. The low-stress job appeared to suit him. He enjoyed acting as a senior uncle to the students and was equally popular with the faculty.  Peter wished some of his congeniality would rub off on Lavinia.

He and Neal had the vault to themselves that afternoon. The focus of Peter's current research was Laban Shrewsbury. The famous anthropologist had led groundbreaking expeditions for Miskatonic University from 1910 to 1930 when he traveled the globe searching for evidence of lost cultures. His death at the relatively young age of fifty-one had been a great loss to the scientific community.

Over the past couple of months Peter and Neal had spent countless hours in the vault. Neal's original intent was to translate the appendices to the _Necronomicon_ , a task his former advisor Thaddeus Shrewsbury, Laban's son, had assigned him shortly before falling into a coma. Neal had succeeded in the project a few weeks ago. It was a tragedy that Thaddeus had passed away without knowing of Neal's success.

Peter had only occasionally visited the vault before he met Neal. Lavinia had granted him access two years ago when he'd solicited her help with cryptic starfish symbols he'd found in an ancient Moroccan tomb. She encouraged him to explore the illustrations in the _Necronomicon_. It was the first time he'd heard of the eighth century work by an Arab scholar. Little had he realized that some of the creatures described within that tome would be found on the streets of Arkham, and that the discoverer would be one of the unlikeliest of people—the quiet young linguistics scholar sitting across the table from him.

He glanced over at Neal, already buried in his translation work. The intersection of their lives contained so much that was mysterious. They'd both been found to contain algolnium within their spinal fluid. Algolnium would have continued to be unknown if Neal hadn't experienced such a strong reaction to its presence in a starfish-shaped artifact Peter had discovered only a few months earlier. What were the odds of that happening?

Now they were on the trail of an early advanced civilization which had created bronze alloys containing algolnium. Peter's earlier skepticism of Earth being colonized by an extraterrestrial civilization had crumbled in the face of mounting evidence.

Thaddeus had granted Neal access to the Shrewsbury cabinet within the vault. There weren't many documents from Thaddeus inside, but for his father, it was a goldmine. Handwritten accounts of expeditions to sites Peter had read about nowhere else. And perhaps even a greater puzzle was that so many of the documents were written in unknown scripts. Laban had been an anthropologist, not a linguist. Where had he acquired such an extensive knowledge of languages? Peter was familiar with many ancient tongues, but he, like most archaeologists, relied on experts for extensive translations.

Such as Neal.

A gasp from Miskatonic's wunderkind roused Peter from his musings.

"What did you find?" Peter asked, walking around the table to view what Neal was studying so intently. In his hands he held a single sheet of notebook paper, yellowed with age. At the top in Laban's distinctive scrawl was the date of September 30, 1929. Laban had returned from his last expedition on September 10 of that same year. The body of the text was in one of the unknown scripts. To Peter's eyes, the closest approximation was an ancient Chinese cursive script.

When Neal didn't answer, he repeated the question. They'd been searching for records of Laban's travels in the late '20s. For the period from May 1928 until September of the following year, they'd so far drawn a blank. "Is that about his last expedition?"

"If he'd used a spaceship." Neal exhaled and muttered, "I can't believe I just said that." He put the paper down to look at Peter. "I wasn't having any luck with the crystal manuscript so I put it aside to work on this document. Laban wrote it in English, but he used a script of his own devising. It's a code, based on ancient Chinese."

"Why would he have gone to such extreme lengths?"

"Perhaps to keep others from being able to read it?" Neal scanned the page. "Laban mentions visiting an alien planet with Andrew Phelan."

"The man you believe may be your grandfather?"

Nodding, Neal pointed to a word on the page. "This translates to Celaeno. Do you remember when I first scanned through Laban's journals, I found the line: _My dreams are haunted by Celaeno_? We were puzzled about the significance of the word. It turns out Mozzie was the closest when he explained that Celaeno is one of the stars in the cluster Pleiades. Laban claims he visited the fourth planet orbiting Celaeno. He calls it Celaeno-D."

"Did he explain how he got there?" Peter asked, excited about the implications. In October, he and Neal had traveled through a wormhole in an abandoned house. They'd emerged in a tower overlooking an alien landscape and the Plateau of Leng. Could that have been Celaeno-D?

"He didn't describe the mechanism, but he does their guide. Laban writes that they were helped by a man claiming to be from the third planet orbiting the star Merope. That's another star in the Pleiades star cluster."

An extraterrestrial walking on Earth? Mozzie liked to joke that Neal and Peter were starmen, but this was the real thing. Someone who looked human but wasn't. Even more significant, it was an alien who was friendly to Laban and Andrew.

Over the past few months, Peter and Neal had encountered several hostile alien species—ghasts, nightgaunts, gugs, and zoogs. The closest they'd come to a friendly species was when Peter heard a voice inside his head giving him directions on how to seal off a wormhole.

"Laban could find nothing about him which looked out of the ordinary but he possessed abilities which demonstrated categorically he wasn't human. Unfortunately, Laban didn't describe what they were. This alien—Zophar was his name—said that his people were fighting an intergalactic battle with another race of extraterrestrials." Neal paused to scan the text. "Laban calls them the Ymar. He further explains that the Ymar are the same race that Abdul Alhazred calls the Outer Gods in the _Necronomicon_."

Peter's heart sank with a thud.  The criminal cult they'd tangled with—the Church of Starry Wisdom—worshiped an entity called Azathoth. In the _Necronomicon_ he was described as one of the Outer Gods. Azathoth was supposedly the creator of all the other gods, an amorphous mass of tentacles who dwelt in the center of the universe in a region of chaos. Neal had encountered a priest on the Plateau of Leng who asserted he served Azathoth. Alhazred wrote that the priest went by many names, but his true name was Nyarlathotep and he was also one of the Outer Gods. If Laban was right, they weren't deities but a race of warlike aliens.

Peter wrenched his mind from the unsettling possibility that Azathoth was real. "Why did Zophar take Laban and Andrew to Celaeno?"

"The Celaenians are supposedly the only ones who know how to defeat the Ymar. They maintain a library on their planet which contains the accumulated knowledge of the galaxy. The Ymar had in the distant past ruled Earth and are coming back to reclaim it. Zophar said they're completely evil and must be destroyed." Neal sat back and exhaled. "Can this be true? Should we warn someone? But who would believe this?"

"I don't know." Peter muttered, glanced around the chamber. Dumb move. Did he think the books might have an answer?

"Peter, look! The crystal manuscript!"

Neal had laid the slab of crystal off to the side while he worked on the Shrewsbury document. No longer translucent, it had turned an incandescent red.

"Is it hot? I don't see any smoke but it looks to be on fire."

Neal held his hand a few inches away. "It's not radiating heat, but the script is dissolving." He looked up, horrified. "We can't let that happen!"

"How can we stop it?" Already the threads of text were blurring into the background. In a few seconds not a trace would be left.

"We have to do something. Perhaps if we moved it . . ." He reached for the manuscript.

"Don't touch it," Peter warned, but he was too late. When Neal's hand came into contact, instead of stopping at the surface it sank into the crystal and disappeared.

"Pull your hand out NOW!"

"I'm trying! I can't" Neal used his other arm to brace himself against the table, but the slab appeared cemented to the surface. It didn't budge nor would it release his hand.

Peter stood behind Neal and tried to wrest him free, but to no avail. Within a few seconds Neal's appearance began to change. His body was turning as translucent as the crystal manuscript had been. And not just Neal. Peter's arms were transforming too.

Neal stared at him aghast. "Let go of me! You're turning invisible!"

But before Peter could release his hold, he was flung into blackness, spinning ever faster until it seemed every molecule in his body would be torn apart.

They were back in a wormhole.

Peter tightened his grip on Neal's arm. Oblivion lapped at his thoughts until the darkness overcame him.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Lavinia rose from her desk and strode over to the window. From her office high in the turret of the library she had a commanding view of the path leading up the knoll to the main entrance. Ch'uli jumped on her shoulder to peer out the window with her. Absently, she stroked the chittak's soft silver fur. For the past several hours, Ch'uli and her mate Ch'orri had taken turns at keeping watch.

Phineas had said he'd visit her today, but as usual hadn't provided any specifics. When she chided him about it, he claimed absentmindedness was part of his persona. Was it absolutely essential that he portray someone so inconsiderate?

When Lavinia huffed her frustration, Ch'uli jumped off her shoulder onto the window sill, whipping her tail nervously.

"Don't look at me that way," Lavinia grumbled. "You think it's what I deserve for being so rude to Neal and Peter."

She went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She'd long ago discovered that tea to calm her nerves before meeting with Phineas was a wise precaution.

Relations had become increasingly tense as Neal rebelled against the wall she'd constructed around herself. His actions made her question their decision to delay informing him and Peter. Had she and Phineas been overly influenced by Neal's initial condition when they arrived on the planet?

She and Phineas knew this moment would come, but she couldn't help wishing they could have waited another ten years. She'd grown to accept that humans mature faster than Meropians but even so . . . If anything happened to Neal, they'd have to abandon Earth as a lost cause.

Ch'uli's excited chitter roused her from her musings.

She returned to the window. A man was walking briskly toward the library entrance. Who else but Phineas would wear a safari outfit on a cold November day? At least he wasn't wearing his pith helmet. When was the last time he'd taken a comb to his hair? It looked like birds were nesting it. Of course, it _was_ Phineas. Perhaps that was the look he was aiming for. The logic of why he'd chosen to adopt the appearance of a caricature from a British TV comedy series escaped her. Didn't their directive instruct them to assimilate themselves inconspicuously into the human population? She heaved a heartfelt sigh which proved oddly comforting.

By the time Phineas knocked at the door, she'd prepared the tea and had set out two mugs for them. "What took you so long?  I was beginning to wonder if you'd stopped to chat with Neal and Peter. They're currently in the vault."

"Yes, I know," he said, unceremoniously sprawling into a chair. "I considered it. I'm sure Neal will be delighted to see me. Is he coming to my lecture?"

"How would I know? I'm not his secretary."

Ch'uli, the flirt, was ecstatic at seeing Phineas and immediately leaped onto his shoulder. Ch'orri had also awakened at the noise and scampered down. After a quick greeting he bounded off to the kitchen in search of cookies. Chocolate was unknown on Merope, but both chittaks had quickly become addicted to it. Lavinia kept a cookie jar stocked with Oreos for them. She'd grown so accustomed to seeing Ch'orri's emerald-green face streaked with chocolate crumbs, she barely noticed it.

Evidently, they weren't the only ones who'd developed a craving. Phineas filched one of Ch'orri's cookies for himself and happily dunked it into his sandalwood tea. "Has anything happened since we last talked?" he asked between nibbles.

"No, Arkham has become peaceful once more. Once the wormhole in the crypt was closed, there have been no sightings of zoogs or ghasts. The nightgaunts have disappeared as well."

"Does Peter still ask you about the voice he heard in his head?"

"Fortunately he appears to have given up. It might have been more expedient if you'd gone ahead and identified yourself."

"Time was of the essence, my dear. As it was, they barely got the gateway closed in time." Phineas gave her a sly look. "And what of your suitor? Does Mozzie continue to court you?"

Her groan made Ch'orri drop his Oreo on the floor. "He's persistent, I'll give him that."

Phineas had the temerity to roll his eyes at Ch'orri. "You know she's missing out, don't you?"

"Oh, really?" Lavinia shot him a glare that would dissolved any human into a puddle of mush but had zero effect on the Meropian Lothario. "Have you dallied with humans?"

"Of course. When in Rome . . ." He stopped her before she could berate him for his foolishness. "Don't worry, only harmless flirtations, nothing more." He dusted the cookie crumbs off his lap. "How do you want to handle it? Invite Neal and Peter here for tea?"

"That was my initial thought," she admitted. "But once I invite them, they may wish to bring all the other members of their group. My office will be claustrophobic with so many people crammed inside."

"How many are in the group, this Algolnium Web as Mozzie dubbed them?"

She ticked them off on her fingers. "Besides the three of them, there's Peter's wife Elizabeth, Cyrus Dexter, the head of the chemistry department—"

"Ah yes, Cyrus. His identification of the element algolnium was impressive. The research he and Elizabeth are conducting indicates how much their civilization has advanced. Who else knows?"

"Neal and Peter have confided in one police detective in particular, Diana Briscoe. She's been surprisingly open-minded. It gives me hope that they'll take our warnings seriously."

"Unlike the past? Earthlings have no appreciation of how their nascent civilizations were prevented from crumbling. But the Celaenians are no longer around to be their protectors."

"Our resources are also stretched to the limit."

"Still, we must not give way to gloom and doom." He slapped her, most unnecessarily, on her back. Sometimes Phineas reminded her in the most annoying way possible of Mozzie.

"There is one other who knows—Neal's friend Sara Pabodie."

 _"Chrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraw!_ "

Lavinia jumped at Ch'orri's alarm cry, the tea from her cup sloshing onto the table. The chittak had assumed his alarm stance and flattened himself to the surface of the table, his long tail extending straight out behind him. His emerald face had turned almost black. Ch'uli had leaped back on Lavinia's shoulder, adding her chitter to his. Someone had opened a wormhole to Merope.

Phineas pressed a hand to his temple. "The vault!"

Lavinia was already moving to the door. She brushed off Ch'uli. "We must go at once."

"We'll be too late," Phineas warned. "My link to Peter has been severed."

When they arrived at the vault, Ephraim was on the phone. The guard took one look at her and jumped up. "I was trying to contact you, ma'am. Something terrible's happened!"

"Calm yourself," Lavinia ordered. "What did you see?"

"The professors  . . . they just  . . ." He swallowed, fumbling for words.

Lavinia pushed Ephraim back into his chair. Attempting to question him would be fruitless. He was quickly becoming distraught to the point of incoherence as he ranted about how the men vanished. 

There was no time to waste. An information extraction was the only recourse. Pressing two fingers into his left temple, she probed his mind. Ephraim's face went blank as she pieced together his recollections—the crackle of electricity, a brief moment of blinding white light coming from within the chamber. When the light subsided, Ephraim discovered that Neal and Peter had vanished. Patiently she scoured his memory while Phineas updated the record book to show that Neal and Peter had left fifteen minutes ago.

"Did he see anything else?" Phineas asked.

"He doesn't recognize its significance, but he overheard them saying something about the crystal manuscript glowing red. That's when the wormhole opened." 

Phineas's face whitened at the mention of the crystal manuscript. The enormity of the catastrophe brushed aside his normal demeanor.

Satisfied that she'd extracted all she could from the guard, Lavinia erased his memory of the event and withdrew her fingers.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked Ephraim, looking at him with concern.

"I don't know what came over me," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. "I feel a little dizzy."

"I'm not surprised. I found you slumped at your desk. Many of the students have the flu. You may be coming down with it as well."

"Don't worry about me. I feel fine now."

"You should go home and rest," she urged, helping him up. "In any case it was my intention to close the vault. I came downstairs to start an inventory. Until the work is complete, the vault will be unavailable to all users."

"Very good, ma'am. Would you like me to return later this evening to lock up?"

"That won't be necessary. I'll take care of everything." She wished she had the confidence she'd projected onto the guard. Ephraim would be all right. As for Neal and Peter, they were beyond her reach.

Phineas had already gone inside the vault and had begun to examine the objects on the reading table. The vault entrance was protected by a wrought iron gate. The massive outer oak door was seldom used, but Lavinia closed it behind her as she entered the chamber.

The crystal manuscript lay on the table, barely recognizable. Its once translucent surface was now a blackened and shriveled relic. There was no trace of the script it formerly contained.

His face somber, Phineas probed the crystal at length with his fingers before shaking his head. "It's useless now. Our link to Celaeno is gone."

"It may have already been gone for decades. The last time it was used to transport anyone was when the librarian sent Laban and Andrew back from Celaeno."

"But the librarian retained the crystal," Phineas reminded her. "And that may have determined its fate."

She nodded absently. When Zophar returned to Celaeno ten years later, he'd found the librarian vanished, the library in ruins, its precious contents destroyed, and the crystal manuscript gone. Everyone presumed only the Ymar could have been guilty of such a despicable act of wanton destruction. It had taken Zophar eleven long years of searching before he found the manuscript on an outlying planet which had also suffered the ravages of the Ymar. Sometime between 1929 and 1951, the crystal manuscript must have become contaminated. When Zophar secured it inside vault, he had no idea how dangerous it was.

"All these years we've stored it as a priceless artifact in the Shrewsbury cabinet," Lavinia said, voicing her dismay aloud. "We never suspected we'd invited Azathoth into our midst."

"What role did it play in Thaddeus's abduction? Did Azathoth use it to ensnare him too?"

"I fear that was the case," she acknowledged. "When I gave Thaddeus algolnium, I placed him in the Ymar's crosshairs." She'd often blamed herself for not having taken better care of Neal when he was a child. Had she been the cause of what befell Thaddeus, too? Were all their efforts to go for naught?

"It's my fault as much as yours. You mustn't blame yourself." Phineas's attempt to comfort her was appreciated but futile. She'd failed Neal. Failed Peter.

The table was covered with work materials. Neal's notes in his flowing script were easy to recognize. There was a sheet of paper covered in one of Laban's coded languages. It must have been what Neal was working on when the disaster occurred. Had Neal deciphered it? Lavinia longed to know what it said.

She placed both Neal and Peter's materials in the Shrewsbury cabinet. The crystal manuscript she'd take upstairs. Its power was gone, its contents destroyed. Once Phineas returned, they'd have to decide on a permanent solution.

"The chittaks are positive that the wormhole terminated in Merope," Phineas said. "I'll depart immediately. I may not be able to establish a link with Neal, but I can still access Peter's thoughts. Once I'm on the planet, I should be able to find them."

 _If they're still alive_ . . . Lavinia didn't voice her fear aloud. There was no need to. Phineas was fully aware of the dangers on the planet. "You can use the astrolabe in my office for the trip."

She'd need to prepare medications. Sornoth may have already captured them. If so, keeping them alive could be a major challenge. She wished she could go along. Phineas was not as skilled in medicine as she was. But the wormhole opened by the astrolabe would accommodate only one of them, and Phineas alone had the skill to access Peter's mind.

Her task would be nearly as daunting. What would she say to Elizabeth and Mozzie? Perhaps she could delay speaking with them till the morning. By then, Phineas might have already returned with Neal and Peter, safe and well. If she professed ignorance, wouldn't that be kinder than telling them what actually occurred? 

She and Phineas left the vault together. Lavinia paused for a moment to scan the chamber one last time before locking the door. Nothing was out of place. The crystal manuscript was in her bag. They'd maintain the illusion till tomorrow, and then?

Lavinia stopped herself from useless speculation. Phineas would return with them both. Failure was simply not an option.

 

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading and welcome back to Arkham! If this is your first visit, you may wish to check out the resources on the[Arkham Files](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/p/arkham-files.html) page of our blog. I hope you'll join me for the next chapter when Neal and Peter emerge from the wormhole on a distant planet._

_Arkham Files is a mix of original and borrowed elements, and that's the subject of my blog post this week. Laban Shrewsbury is a case in point. He's the main character in a series of short stories written by August Derleth called "The Trail of Cthulhu." I've modified his biography extensively for Arkham Files. The title of the post is "[Arkham Files: A Hybrid Blend](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/12/arkham-files-hybrid-blend.html)."_

_Neal's studies at Oxford were a year after J.R.R. Tolkien's death. I've pinned the photos he referenced, including the Ent tree, to the[Cinereous Skies board](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/current-story-cinereous-skies/) on the [Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/). You'll also find pins of the cast members, locations, and chittaks._

_FBI Agent Diana Berrigan began writing Arkham Files fics as part of a strategy to capture a cybercriminal nicknamed Azathoth. Most of her characters are drawn from the world of White Collar and retain their same given names. Events and characters in Arkham Files are sometimes referenced in the Caffrey Conversation stories and have an impact on plot development._

_Penna Nomen created the Caffrey Conversation AU and is the head muse for our series. Penna recently posted a new chapter in her collection of Caffrey Vignettes. The story is called "Treasure Hunt" and is a delightful trip back to January 2004 when Byron's request for the FBI's help sends Peter and Neal on a treasure hunt on Peter's birthday._

_In Arkham, it's mid-November, but in our timeline it's the holiday season. If you're looking for a December holiday story, we have several options in Caffrey Conversation: Choirboy Caffrey (early December 2003), By the Book (New Year's 2004), An Evening with Genji (mid-December 2004 and an early New York Christmas), Caffrey Aloha (Christmas 2004 and New Year's in Hawaii), and A Caffrey Christmas Carol (December 2005). There's a chronological list of all our stories as well as short summaries on our blog._

_Disclaimers: The worlds of White Collar and the Cthulhu Mythos as envisaged by H.P. Lovecraft, August Derleth, and others are not mine, alas._


	2. Merope

**Arkham. November 14, 1975. Friday evening.**

Sara arrived at Dorian's Coffeehouse only fifteen minutes late. Neal could hardly tease her for what in her world counted as an on-time arrival. But it might be good if he did. A little levity could make the news she had to share less painful.

What would it be like to grow up without knowing who your parents were? In comparison with Neal's childhood, her life had been a dream scenario of _Father Knows Best._ She used to chafe at the restrictions they imposed, but she always knew she was loved. She knew who she was. Neal was still trying to answer that question. 

When she entered Dorian's, one of the coffeehouse regulars, a senior at Miskatonic whom she'd heard before, was singing Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind." Would Neal feel the same way when she told him?

She glanced around the room. The coffeehouse was a popular hangout for students and most of the tables were filled. There was no sign of Neal anywhere. For once, was he later than her? That would surely be a sign of the coming Apocalypse.

She spotted Jack, the coffeehouse owner, sitting at a table with Mozzie. Such an odd name for a brilliant astrophysicist. Neal's friend was much more charming and witty than any other scientist she'd met. Another point in his favor—he liked happy hour as much as she did.

She strolled over to their table. "My date isn't here. Can I join you two handsome fellows?"

"We're sampling wines for my book signing party," Mozzie said with a wide smile. "Please join us."

"I may have to change the name to Dorian's Wine Bar," Jack said, with a rueful glance at the array of bottles on the table. Mozzie's publisher was footing the bill for a signing party to celebrate the publication of his latest book, _Branes Among Us_ , and with good reason. His first, _The Brane Game_ , was a nationwide best seller which read more like a thriller than an introduction to supergravity. Mozzie had let Sara read an advance copy of his new work and she predicted it would be equally successful.

Hosting the party was good business for Jack. It also made sense for his love life. Jack had fallen hard for Diana Briscoe, but had yet to work up the courage to ask the Arkham police detective out on a date. Sara and Neal were doing what they could to smooth the way. Coordination with the police was necessary to manage the expected crowd at the book signing. Surely Jack would take advantage of the opportunity.

Neal didn't know if Diana was already seeing someone, and Sara had assigned herself the task of finding out. Diana was in her kung fu class, but apparently affairs of the heart didn't blend well with fighting. Or Diana was singularly obtuse. Sara had yet to discover if Jack had any competition for Diana's heart.

She took a seat. "Don't tell me Neal was already here and left? I'm less than a half-hour late."

"On Friday afternoons he and Peter work in the library vault," Mozzie said, pouring her a glass of wine from one of the bottles.

"I thought they had lectures."

"Replacement professors have already been assigned so they can devote more time to research," he explained. "Neal probably got buried in a translation and forgot. I'm sure he'll resurface eventually."

"We'd planned to rehearse songs for the book-signing party," said Jack. "He may have gone home to fetch his guitar."

An hour later Sara's stomach was beginning to rumble from too many wine samples and not enough food. Her fake boyfriend was still blowin' in the wind, and the folksinger had moved on to "Nowhere Man." Not a good sign. Jack offered her the use of the phone in his office to track him down.

She retrieved Jack's phone book from his bookcase, an untidy mix of bills, art supplies, and sheet music, and sat down at his desk. Plainly Jack needed someone to take care of him. Why he'd fixated on Diana to accomplish that herculean task escaped her.  He needed some sweet young thing not a career woman. Diana's house was probably messier than his. But that was a challenge for another day.

Sara first called the front desk of the library. Partial success. Yes, the student had seen Neal arrive along with Peter, but she hadn't noticed them leave. Sara prevailed on her to check the vault. After a few minutes, the student came back to the phone to report that he'd signed out at 4:15. The vault was now closed for inventory, and the guard had left for the day. It was now almost two hours later. What had been bemusement over an absent-minded professor turned into real worry. Yes, she could see Neal losing himself in a translation but not in anything else. And he wouldn't have missed showing up, not when he expected news about his childhood. Unless . . . did Peter have an emergency?

Sara dialed El's number, but the only response was a busy signal. It took multiple attempts before she could get through. El was equally worried. Peter had yet to appear. She'd called Neal's landlady June and she also hadn't heard anything. El had already left a message for Diana at the police station.

Sara had been kidnapped a couple of weeks ago in broad daylight, but it didn't seem likely that two people could have been seized at the same time. Had Neal spotted one of the bizarre creatures he'd told her about? A ghast or a nightgaunt? Reportedly, both were creatures who were active in twilight and during the night. An overcast late afternoon in mid-November would qualify.

Had they taken off to chase a ghast without her? Or was one chasing them? And what if it was a pack of ghasts?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Still no answer." El placed the telephone receiver on the hook. "Is Lavinia refusing to answer her phone? I've become so suspicious about that woman, I don't think I'm reasoning properly."

"You should drink this," Mozzie said, pressing a glass of brandy into her hand. "Tea is not strong enough to combat the disappointment that you, that I, that we all feel. Yet again Neal and Peter have taken off on an adventure and left us behind." His wail of anguish was not helpful.

Sara and Mozzie had come straight from the coffeehouse and were keeping her company in the living room. June had also stopped by, staying until she needed to leave for a theater rehearsal. El particularly appreciated Sara's presence. She had an objectivity that El and Mozzie lacked.

El had already spoken with Diana twice. So far the police hadn't uncovered any clues. They'd interviewed the library staff, and no one remembered seeing Neal and Peter leave. Lavinia was either out or holed up in her office, refusing to answer inquiries. El was inclined to believe the latter.

"Why do you feel Lavinia knows something?" asked Sara, reaching for her purse. She took out a brown leather pocket notebook and unscrewed the cap from her pen. El was glad to see Sara prepared to take notes. She found it comforting to have some action being taken, no matter how small.

El gathered her thoughts for a moment as she tried to remember how much Neal and Peter had already told her.

Mozzie had no such restraint. "Neal described his visit to the boarded-up church in September, but did he mention that Lavinia contacted both Peter and me about the danger he was in?"

Sara looked at him, shocked. "No, had she gone with him?"

"Hardly," Mozzie scoffed, "but somehow she sensed he was there. And that's not the only strange thing about her. Neal's shown you his amulet, right?"

"Yes, and I'd wondered about that. How did he know it was an amulet?"

"Lavinia informed him that same night," El said, "but she didn't give any details of what that meant."

"None of us, Neal included, had any inkling of its significance until Lavinia told us," Mozzie added.

"And she offered no explanation as to how she knew?" Sara asked incredulously.

"Not a word," Mozzie confirmed gloomily. "Neal discovered by chance when he was attacked at the Nautical Shop that apparently the amulet is lethal against ghasts. In the crypt at Swan Hill Cemetery, he could use it to seal shut an open wormhole. It would have been helpful if Lavinia had enlightened us about the amulet's properties beforehand. Who knows what else it may be capable of?"

"The evening Neal went to the church," El said, "Lavinia was aware he was in danger. She called Peter, ordering him to go to his assistance but never explained how she knew. Later that same night she showed up at our door unannounced. Somehow she realized Peter had brought Neal to our house."

"Do you think she's clairvoyant?" Sara asked.

El hesitated. She'd never believed in psychics, but Lavinia was testing her preconceptions. "It's possible but that doesn't explain the emerald-colored wine she gave Neal. She insisted he drink it before recounting his experiences. My inclination was not to allow it, but Peter persuaded me it was safe. He'd also drunk the wine and it appeared to have a calming effect. I don't know if it was merely a placebo, but it seemed to work."

"The woman is beyond strange," Mozzie chimed in. "Throughout Neal's account, she nodded as if she was aware of what he'd say in advance."

"She refuses to explain her actions," El said, taking a sip of brandy, "although I've tried talking with her on numerous occasions." Mozzie was right. The brandy might not be emerald wine but it helped her nerves.

"Do you have any other reason to question her besides what happened that night?" Sara asked.

"I'm convinced that Lavinia knows much more about Neal than she's willing to reveal." El debated how much to disclose. Neal had confided in Sara about the bizarre events of the past couple of months, even telling her about the algolnium within him. He continued to insist that they were just good friends, and he might be correct. There was much in their banter which seemed more like that of a brother and sister than two who felt a romantic connection. But whatever the nature of their relationship, it was clear he trusted her, and that was good enough for El.

Satchmo appeared to concur. The yellow Lab had latched onto Sara as soon as she arrived, even bringing her his favorite squeaky toy, a well-loved gray monkey. It hadn't escaped Satchmo's notice that Sara, like Neal, usually came equipped with dog treats.

El proceeded to relate how Lavinia had moved to Arkham and taken up the post of head librarian the same year that Neal was found. "Lavinia used to be helpful to Peter. She gave him access to the vault and assisted him with his research. But a few months ago, she started avoiding him. This was around the time Peter took Neal to see her. It was the weekend Neal first saw a ghast. She extended vault privileges to Neal, told Peter that their lives were intertwined, but then wouldn't explain why."

"No wonder Neal finds her so frustrating." Sara stopped taking notes to consider a moment before turning to Mozzie. "When did you first become friends with Lavinia?"

"I already had vault privileges when Lavinia arrived. She's also quite interested in ancient astronomical instruments, and we had many a cordial conversation about astrolabes and armillary spheres. Occasionally she visited my office to see my collection. But as the years passed, she grew more distant."

"Did you ever wonder if the change in her attitude was somehow connected to Neal?"

Mozzie looked taken aback. "I never considered that. I thought she was simply growing curmudgeonly. It appears to be an occupational hazard among academics. Lavinia's behavior has always been . . .  Let's be charitable and call it unusual. Once she informed me I should have a cat and presented me with Betelgeuse. He was only a tiny kitten then. How can one explain such actions?" He shrugged. "I'd never owned a pet, but Betelgeuse is now my comrade."

"When did she give him to you?" Sara asked.

He thought a moment. "It was Neal's freshman year. That makes it 1969. Classes had just begun."

"Betelgeuse was the one who killed a zoog," Sara noted.

"What are you suggesting?" Mozzie demanded. "That Lavinia had an ulterior motive in giving him to me?"

"I wouldn't dismiss anything," she cautioned.

"Neal is the key to Lavinia's behavior," El said. "On that we agree." She turned to Mozzie. "You befriended him when he was a child. Did Lavinia play any part in that?"

"I met him at a summer astronomy camp when he was twelve . . .  Come to think of it, Lavinia did encourage me to participate in the camp. I'd acquired a particularly fine astrolabe from the sixteenth century and she'd come over to see it. As I recall, we lamented the lack of knowledge today's students have of ancient astronomical instruments. Lavinia said I'd make an excellent role model for the younger generation. I was consumed by string theory at the time, but she insisted camp would be a welcome release which would help focus my thoughts."

Sara started a fresh sheet of notes. "Any special circumstances to Neal's attendance at camp?"

"He'd won a spot as an award for his entry in the science fair that year. He'd made a study on the harmful effects of light pollution."

"Could Lavinia have played a part?" El asked.

"I don't see how. I once asked him how he'd come up with the topic. It took a lot of prodding on my part to elicit a response. He was such a shy boy. Very unlike boys his age. I attributed it to the rough times he had at the foster home. Neal admitted that the idea had come to him in a dream. I remember because it sounded like one of my eureka moments."

"I think Lavinia knows where they are now," El said. "I haven't told the police about her yet, but I intend to confront her tomorrow morning. If she doesn't give me any answers, I'm going to Diana with all I know."

"I'd like to accompany you," Sara said.

"And me too," Mozzie added. "With the three of us at her door, she'll have no choice but to talk to us."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was once more caught up in a nauseating maelstrom of colors beyond space.  He tumbled and spun, his senses no longer able to relay any coherent signals. When he'd entered, Peter had been trying to yank him free. He must have been sucked in as well. Was he trapped alongside him?

After a voyage which seemed to last an eternity, Neal was hurled out of the vortex onto a bed of ferns. He lay still, catching his breath, while the world continued to spin around him. Surrounding him were tall trees, their trunks covered in moss, their bright green leaves slick with drops of water. The canopy was so dense he could only catch glimpses of the sky.

Peter was lying a few yards away, seemingly uninjured.

Neal scrambled up, shaking off the dizziness. Peter's eyes opened as Neal crouched beside him. He scanned Neal as he took in large lungfuls of air. "You okay?"

Neal nodded, helping him to sit up. "Compared with our previous trips, we hit the jackpot. We landed in a rainforest. I'll take this over the frozen Plateau of Leng any day."

For a moment they paused to take in the world surrounding them. A butterfly flitted lazily overhead. Its wings were bright cerulean blue with spots of amethyst and gold. Nothing too strange about that, but its wingspan was easily two feet wide. Neal turned to Peter. "You've led expeditions to tropical regions. Ever see anything similar?"

"No butterfly that large." Peter stood up, wiping the clinging ferns off his trousers. "But that's not a complaint. It's a pleasant change from the nightgaunts and zoogs who greeted us on other trips."

High up in the trees a soft sound was heard. Neal broke into a laugh. He'd heard that distinctive call before.

Peter twisted his neck to scan the forest canopy over him. "Did you hear that?"

"You remember the animal I thought I saw in Lavinia's office? The one she denied existed and claimed I'd been asleep at the time? It made that same kind of chittering sound."

The leaves moved as something scrabbled down a tree. A moment later a small animal jumped onto Neal's shoulder. It resembled a bushbaby with enormous golden eyes and silver fur dotted with bright green spots.

Neal slowly raised his hand to let the creature sniff him then began to stroke the soft fur. "This looks just like the animal in Lavinia's rafters."

"It's a friendly fellow," Peter commented as he smiled at it. "I'm glad I'm able to see it, too."

The animal was rubbing against the side of Neal's face the way Betelgeuse did. Was it also putting his mark on him? It chittered rapidly in his ear and then studied his face with an intent expression as if expecting something from him.

"It looks like it's trying to communicate with you." Peter held out his hand, palm up, and talked to it softly. The bushbaby sniffed his hand and then leaped over to his shoulder. As Peter stroked its back, it chortled loudly. "If Lavinia has friends of his living in her rafters, should we extrapolate that she's also gone through the wormhole?"

"That would help explain some—" Neal stopped mid-sentence. Why hadn't he realized that before?

"What is it?" Peter demanded.

"Look around you. You notice something missing?"

It only took Peter a second to grasp Neal's meaning. "The wormhole. It's gone."

"I can't remember seeing if after I was ejected onto the ferns. How will we get home?"

The bushbaby jumped off Peter's shoulder and retreated to the trees as they searched their immediate surroundings. The only other time both had gone through a wormhole had been in an abandoned house. They'd been transported to a tower where the vortex remained clearly visible. No such route was available to them now.

"When you were in the monastery of ice on the Plateau of Leng, there was also no visible portal," Peter pointed out. "The priest blasted you back."

"What are you saying? That we'll need to go to Leng and ask the priest for help?  I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Me too, but that experience indicates there are other ways of forming wormholes."

"Maybe on Leng but not necessarily here," Neal pointed out. "We have no way of knowing if we're on the same planet as Leng or even the same universe. Mozzie believes there may be infinite parallel universes. What's true on one may not be valid on another."

"Here's an option you might like better. Perhaps we're still on Earth."

"Time travel?"

Peter shrugged. "Why not? That doesn't sound much more improbable than being on a remote planet."

Neal relaxed into a smile. "Should we watch out for dinosaurs?"

"I might rather face them than ghasts," Peter retorted. He looked around for a moment. "We know we're in a rainforest. The air's breathable. Gravity appears to act the same. I think this is where we need to have faith that somehow we'll find our way back.  If we stay here, there's no guarantee the wormhole will reopen. We could miss out on finding a wormhole in a different location."

Neal didn't disagree. If they were to survive, they'd need water, food, and shelter. The most immediate concern was for water. The lushness of the vegetation indicated there must be water sources nearby, but there was nothing to indicate in which direction.

A bird streaked by. It was as gaudy as a bird-of-paradise, but flew too fast for Neal to make out anything more than an impression of vibrant colors and long streamers of feathers. They decided to take it as an omen and followed its direction.

It was midafternoon when they'd been sucked into the crystal manuscript. According to their watches, they'd been gone for only four hours, but they'd learned passage through a wormhole made a mockery of traditional notions of time. The sky appeared brightest at an angle of about sixty degrees in the sky, but was it midmorning or midafternoon? Neal didn't fancy roaming through a forest in the pitch black of night.

Was anyone in Arkham aware of what had happened? Surely Ephraim noticed something. He would have contacted Lavinia . . . Did she alert June and Elizabeth? Neal glanced at Peter. He was projecting the image of a confident explorer, but in unguarded moments, the underlying stress leaked through.

Neal's mind whirled with questions—not just where they were but how much time had elapsed. And why had the crystal manuscript transformed itself into a wormhole portal? Was there anything he'd done which provoked it?

Without more information, his questions would have to remain unanswered. They were here, wherever that was.

In the meantime, the rainforest beckoned to them. It was simply too enticing to be ignored. Luxuriant vegetation everywhere. Vines laced up the trees in intricate webs of foliage. The ground was covered in soft moss and ferns. Wildlife was in abundance—dragonflies, sleepy-eyed lizards, large iridescent beetles. The calls of birds resounded throughout the forest. They'd seen several more of the bushbabies but no other mammal-like creatures.

As they trekked onward, Peter discussed the plant life and how it compared to places he visited on his travels. Neal hadn't realized the depth of Peter's naturalist skills. Neal was familiar with birds but hadn't studied plants. Peter was a walking field guide.

Neal had never been on a dig. His forest treks were limited to the woods north and west of Arkham. Peter had explored wilderness areas throughout the world. As they hiked, Peter frequently referred to Elizabeth and her love of nature. Neal had seen little of that side of her. She'd accompanied Peter on digs when her workload permitted it. As Peter talked about how she would have enjoyed exploring the forest, his remarks made their situation seem less desperate.

The flowers were gaudy with every color of the rainbow plus hues unfamiliar to him. Some of them sparkled with an iridescence he associated with hummingbirds. The flowers were concentrated on tree branches where they were closer to sunlight. When he returned home Neal knew he would to try to depict glimpses of this world on canvas, but he could only convey a rough impression. Paint pigments on Earth were too dull to convey the rich palette he'd need.

The past summer he'd gone to see _The Land That Time Forgot_ , where shipwrecked survivors arrived on a tropical rainforest. In the movie they'd encountered primitive races and dinosaurs. Would he and Peter encounter similar species? The foliage was too thick to glimpse any pterodactyls, but Neal listened with half an ear for the distant thud of gigantic hoofs or muffled roars. So far the largest animals they'd seen were birds, and they were too beautiful to be scary.

Much more pressing than looking out for dinosaurs was the need to find a source of water. Since the air was breathable, they hoped that it would be drinkable.

Neal's last meal now seemed in the remote past. As they explored the forest, they kept an eye out for berries or anything resembling fruit, but didn't find any. Perhaps it was for the best. They would have had no way to test it.

Constantly niggling at the back of his mind was why they'd been brought here. It defied credulity to think the crystal manuscript had spontaneously transformed itself into a portal to a wormhole.

When Neal was drawn into the ruby crystal at St. Jude's Church, he assumed it had been the will of the high priest, the entity he now knew was Nyarlathotep, Azathoth's first lieutenant. If Laban Shrewsbury was correct, both of those beings were members of an alien race, the Ymar.

Was this present journey also at their instigation or were there other forces at work? Laban had mentioned other races—the Celaenians and the Meropians. Were he and Peter on Celaeno?

 All the other worlds he'd visited had been hostile. Neal had swum in a bioluminescent ocean filled with horrific creatures. He'd nearly frozen to death on the Plateau of Leng. Now he and Peter were making their way through what could pass as a Garden of Eden with brilliant birds and butterflies flitting through the forest canopy and friendly bushbabies chittering a welcome.

"Could this be Celaeno or Merope?" speculated Peter aloud, echoing Neal's thoughts. "Zophar may have brought us here. He aided Laban and Andrew. He could be the man who spoke to me in the crypt." He paused to wipe the sweat off his face. The humidity in the air was draining both of them of energy as well as precious fluids. "I wonder what Meropians look like?"

"Laban said Zophar appeared human."

"He may have been disguising himself," Peter cautioned. "Mozzie's fond of speculating that space aliens could look like bees." He glanced up into the tree canopy. "Perhaps one of those bushbabies is Zophar."

"If this was first contact, did we blow it?" Neal called out, "Give us another chance!"

"And this time, please bring water!" Peter added.

Alas, the bushbabies sent no other emissaries, with or without water. 

Gradually the filtered light coming through the trees grew dimmer. Dusk approached, and with it a fresh concern. What nocturnal predators roamed the forest at night? In the darkness, how would they protect themselves? Images of ghasts and nightgaunts flashed through Neal's mind. He had his amulet. He should be able to ward off ghasts, unless they were too numerous. Against nightgaunts they had no defense.

"We should make a shelter," Peter declared. "There are plenty of fallen branches lying around. We can lash them together with vines and make a rough lean-to."

"Have you ever built one?"

"During a dig in Mexico a couple of years ago, our camp was destroyed by a flash flood. We had to live off the land for a couple of days before the water subsided."

"I wasn't a Boy Scout," Neal admitted. "I've never even slept in a tent. I've been kicking myself for dragging you into the wormhole, but I'm glad you're here."

Peter stopped him with a gesture. "It's where I want to be also. Remember what Lavinia told us in her office. Our fates are intertwined like the vines on those trees."

"Wouldn't you like to know what her source of information is?"

He chuckled. "That's top of my list of questions when we get back. What's on your list?"

"For starters, how often has she gone through a wormhole?"

They began tossing questions back and forth, the topics growing wilder with each question. Distracted, Neal at first didn't hear a welcome sound, but soon it couldn't be ignored. Splashes heralded water ahead.

They quickened their pace, and, as if to help, the forest grew sparser. They'd arrived at a river. Its current flowed swiftly, lapping against boulders on the river's edge. Not only had they found a source of water but the trees gave way for them to see the sky.

"If we had any doubts about not being on Earth, there's our answer," Peter said with a nod to the two suns in the sky. One was perhaps two-thirds of the size of their sun. The other was smaller—the size of a small moon. They were close together and fairly low to the horizon. Sunset was coloring the sky in shades of mauve and lavender.

The river they stood beside was broad and tinted a brilliant aquamarine. Neal wondered what kind of fish called it home. Were they as colorful as the birds he'd seen?

There was no question about risking a drink. Neal knelt down first and cupped his hands. The water tasted cool and rich. It was fragrant from unknown vegetation.

Peter also drank deeply, closing his eyes with pleasure. They tried not to drink too much but it was hard to stop.

"I was hungry, but the water seems to satisfy not only my thirst but my desire for food," Neal admitted.

"Mine as well. It reminds me of Lavinia's tea."

Neal paused to consider a moment. "You're right. Those bushbabies, the fragrance . . . Is Lavinia from this world?"

"We shouldn't jump to any conclusions," Peter cautioned. "Like us, she may have simply visited here."

"If so, that confirms there is a way to return. I wish we could send her an SOS."

"Something tells me she already knows. My hunch is she's already called the cavalry."

Brave words. Was Lavinia capable of mounting a rescue effort? She was the only one who seemed remotely likely to be able to.

They decided to build their shelter close to the river. For some reason, it seemed safer, although it was an open question as to why. Threats could as easily come from the river as anywhere else.

Neal tried to remember what little he knew about the habits of alligators. Did they hunt at night? What about snakes? Peter warned him that making a fire would be next to impossible. They had no flint, no dry tinder.

Their only tool was a Swiss army knife Peter carried in his pocket. He used it to cut vines to make ropes. At the end of a couple of hours, they stood back to admire their construction. It looked like a tepee, with barely enough space for the two of them. It was dubious how much actual protection it would provide, although it was small enough that it should help retain some of their body heat. The suns were still above the horizon when they finished, indicating the planet's rotation must be much slower than Earth's.

They'd heard bird calls during their work. Neal noticed a small bird hunting like a kingfisher on the river. A promising sign? They hadn't suffered any ill effects from the water. Perhaps they could eat the fish as well. His stomach was sending him signals that water alone wouldn't be enough. But attempting to catch fish would have to wait till morning. The long trek and shelter construction had left them in no shape to risk a swim.

Instead they prepared makeshift weapons by scrounging for rocks along the riverbank. They made a pile of their prehistoric missiles near the shelter. They also selected several stout branches of acceptable length to use as clubs. Not much of a defense. Somewhere Neal had read that whacking a gator on its nose would cause it to flee, but he wasn't eager to test the theory. His hand drifted to the amulet suspended from his neck under his shirt. It had enabled him to kill ghasts in Arkham, but they'd only encountered lone individuals. If they were attacked by several at once, one amulet might not be much of a defense.

With the onset of darkness, the forest came alive with bioluminescent mushrooms he hadn't noticed before. In hues of soft greens, pinks, and turquoise, they glowed like fairy lights in the gloom of the forest. Small bioluminescent fish and jellyfish-like creatures were visible in the river. Unlike the monsters he'd seen in the terrifying abyss, these all looked fragile and innocent.

Neal had taken off his jacket during their trek but now slipped it back on. Peter did the same. The moisture-laden air kept temperatures from plummeting but the air had grown chill.

There were three moons of varying sizes in the sky. Many of the stars were much brighter than any visible on Earth. Neal studied the star patterns, forming his own constellations to help remember them. It didn't seem right that Mozzie wasn't there with them. By now he must know Peter and Neal had disappeared. Was El the recipient of his laments at missing out? She must be beside herself with worry. Was Sara with her?

Neal's enhanced night vision was an asset. Cyrus had tested him and discovered he was able to see into the ultraviolet and infrared ranges greater than was supposedly possible. They'd attributed it to the algolnium in his body.

"I wish I had your ability," said Peter, stretching out flat on his back. "I can barely see the trees behind us."

"The amount of algolnium is growing in both of us. You'll probably eventually develop it too."

"I hope so. We may be stuck here a long time. Tomorrow I'll work on drying out vegetation so I can make a fire." Peter described the steps in making a hand drill to spark a flame. Hours of labor would be required.

The sounds of the forest gradually changed. The calls of birds were replaced by frog choruses along the river. Their familiar peeps and croaks make the world seem less alien but that in itself was a puzzle.

"Why do you think we've encountered so many recognizable species?" Neal asked. "If there weren't multiple suns and moons, I'd be tempted to believe we were still on Earth."

"I've been wondering the same thing. In the vastness of the universe, it's certainly conceivable that there are other planets which experienced a similar evolution. But the odds of us arriving on one are—"

"Astronomical?"

"Exactly," said Peter with a chuckle.

Neal stretched out to observe the stars overhead. "What if wormholes are a cause? Spontaneously forming wormholes between planets might have been relatively common in the remote past."

Peter propped himself up on one elbow. "Like volcanoes and asteroids were on Earth?"

Neal nodded, letting his mind roam over the possibilities. "They could have acted as bridges. Or perhaps they sucked in species, allowing for exchanges between worlds—"

A low guttural growl shocked him into silence. It appeared to come from the forest.

"Any ideas on what that was?" Neal asked under his breath. It was impossible to tell how close the animal was.

"Maybe a large cat," Peter muttered. "Lion-sized at least. It reminded me a little of a leopard's growl." He grew quiet as a roar ripped through the forest.

It sounded as if an alien giant was sawing wood in slow motion. No more relaxed stargazing. Neal sat upright and scanned his collection of rocks and branches. Not the best defense against a giant cat on the prowl. Their tropical paradise had turned ominous.

Perhaps not having a fire gave them an advantage. No telltale evidence to alert predators.

He and Peter kept their voices low. Any thought of sleep had vanished. Each plop and splash in the river sounded menacing.

A faint scrabbling sound alerted them something was coming. Neal nearly jumped out of his skin when one of the silver bushbabies they'd spotted earlier leaped onto his shoulder. It flicked its tail nervously while chittering rapidly in his ear.

"It's trying to warn you," Peter said, his eyes darting around the forest.

The animal only stayed a minute then darted off to climb up a tree. "Should we follow its example?" Neal asked. "We could be safer."

"Perhaps, but we may find new dangers—snakes, for instance, or poisonous insects."

"Giant spiders," Neal added, thinking back the giant spiders of Mirkwood in _Lord of the Rings_.

"Leopards climb trees easily," Peter noted. "And if we're attacked, we'd have a harder time escap—"

" _Shhh_ ," Neal interrupted with an urgent hiss. Pounding hooves, harsh breathing . . . He stood up, grabbing a branch. "Ghasts!" He pointed into the trees to their left. "Quick, to the trees!"

"Where?" Peter demanded, matching Neal's strides

"Five of them running straight at us!"

But the ghasts were upon them before they reached the trees. Their jackal-like jaws were opened wide as they lunged forward.

Neal sprang onto the closest one, but it seemed impervious to his amulet. It ripped Neal's branch away as if it was a toothpick.

Another ghast came from behind. Wrapping its arms around Neal's chest, it tore Neal off the first one and hurled him to the ground. As Neal struggled to roll clear, the ghast leaped on top of him, a hoof slamming into his stomach.

Paralyzed from the pain, Neal fought to remain conscious, no longer able to fight back. He heard Peter's cries dimly behind him. When a clawed fist slashed across his forehead, he gave in to the blackness.

 

* * *

_Notes: Neal's off-world paradise has turned deadly, and worse is yet to come. A leopard stalks the jungle. In my previous story, Nocturne in Black and Gold, Neal had mentioned to Diana a wish for a jungle adventure. This isn't what he had in mind._

_Diana uses a playlist when she's writing. For this story "Run through the Jungle" by Creedence Clearwater Revival was a favorite. Penna and I also use playlists for our stories. Particularly for Arkham Files, music helps me to connect with the mood of the era.[Story Playlists](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/12/story-playlists.html) are the subject of my blog post this week. I pick one song to be my personal theme for a story. I'm sure I'm not alone in the practice. Do any of you associate certain songs with stories?_

_In Cinereous Skies there are many hidden messages to Azathoth. White Collar now knows that the cybercriminal they call Azathoth is actually an amalgam of Rolf Mansfeld, a computer programming expert, with his younger brother Klaus. Starting next week, I'll be writing about those messages for the blog. I'd love to hear about the messages you find and how you think the Mansfelds will react._

_Diana's user name is Lomaria and she occasionally posts comments to the Arkham Files stories. She commented about Mozzie this week. It appears that Diana had in an unguarded moment promised him he'd engage in wormhole travel along with Neal and Peter. He assumed it would be in this story. Mozzie was not happy to be excluded. Words were exchanged._

_Penna wrote a post for our blog about her experience in NaNoWriMo, the online challenge to write 50,000 words in the month of November. The post is called[Novel Progress: NaNoWriMo](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/12/novel-progress-nanowrimo.html). She's also writing a new vignette about Peter's birthday in January 2005. She plans to publish it around New Year's. _

_Hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday season! I'll be back next Wednesday with Chapter 3: An Unexpected Visitor, when Phineas arrives on the scene and Sara reaches an understanding with Lavinia._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[www.pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

**Gilman Townhouse. November 15, 1975. Saturday morning.**

After a long evening with no news, El had sent Sara and Mozzie home to catch what rest they could. She knew she'd get none. How could she when Peter and Neal were still missing? She'd taken a sleeping pill sometime after midnight, but it had no effect. Satchmo did his best to keep her company. Normally they didn't allow him in bed, but she'd made an exception. It didn't help.

Sometime in the early morning, El wandered downstairs to the couch. Concentrating on a book was impossible so she put on the TV to provide a little background noise. Just her luck. A rerun of _The Man Who Knew Too Much_ was on. She turned it off after ten minutes. When daybreak finally arrived she was relieved to cast off the pretense of trying to sleep. This would be the morning to confront Lavinia, and El vowed not to leave the library till Lavinia coughed up what she knew.

Sara and Mozzie would go with her. They'd agreed the previous evening to first meet for a strategy session over breakfast which Mozzie insisted on preparing.

As promised, Mozzie showed up on El's doorstep at eight o'clock. He was carrying a large grocery bag. Her spirits lifted at the sight of him in a Julia Child navy blue apron with a tall white chef's hat on his head. Mozzie quickly took possession of the kitchen. He only allowed her to tell him where her supplies were as he zipped around, pulling out a mixing bowl, skillet, and more paraphernalia than he could possibly use. El had already made coffee. While she perched on a kitchen stool, he rambled nonstop about his culinary adventures. She suspected he was making it all up, but his wild stories made her smile.

"It was right after I chanced upon a patch of chanterelles in Billington's Wood north of town that the wild boar sprang upon"—he cocked his head—"Is that the doorbell?"

But El was already racing to the door, almost tripping over Satchmo in her eagerness. She told herself it was Sara, but her heart was leaping at the thought it might be Peter. When she approached the entry, she slowed her pace. She could hear Sara calling to her through the door. It was a thoughtful gesture. Sara knew what she was going through. By the time El opened the door, she had her emotions once more under control.

Sara was wearing a cheerful turquoise turtleneck over her bell-bottoms. "I spoke with my boss at the paper. Larry's assigned me to the case. He realizes that I know more about the Starry Wisdom cult than any of the other reporters. The police feel that they're the most likely suspects."

Mozzie walked out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. "I noticed there was nothing in the morning paper."

"Captain Hughes spoke with Larry last night and requested a news blackout for twenty-four hours at which point they'll reassess. Personally, I have difficulty in believing the cult is involved. Since its members were arrested two weeks ago, there's been no sign of it resurfacing."

"The university will have to be informed," El said, "but I've hesitated to contact the president. What will I tell Calvin? That they've been abducted?" She took a moment to control the unexpected shakiness of her voice. "All I know for certain is that they've disappeared."

Mozzie took her arm and led her into the dining room. "Leave everything to me. I'll speak with Calvin after we've met with Lavinia. There's no need to inform him right away. Peter and Neal don't teach on the weekend. After a good breakfast, you'll feel much better. Now that Sara's here, I'll start the frittata."

"May I watch?" Sara asked. "I've never seen one made."

"You've come to the right source," he said, looking pleased. "A frittata must be carefully constructed. I like to think of it a culinary Big Bang. One miscue and instead of a galaxy you'll wind up with dark matter. Follow me."

El gave them free rein in her kitchen. She needed a moment to compose herself. She was a physician, accustomed to explaining difficult news to patients and their families. She could hardly let her fears overcome her. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the dining room table opposite the two paintings Neal had made. One was a beachscape, the other a scene of a lush forest. The beachscape looked particularly alien with an amethyst and cobalt sky unlike any seen on Earth.

She shared Sara's views about their disappearance. This was not an abduction such as what Sara experienced a few weeks earlier. How could they have been seized on the campus in broad daylight without anyone witnessing it? Her heart was telling her they must have been sucked into a wormhole. Where were they now? She wished it was one of the worlds Neal had painted. They at least looked somewhat hospitable.

When the doorbell rang, her heart once more leaped to her throat. No one else was expected. Was it Peter at last? Or Diana with news? She bolted from the table, but Satchmo was faster. He was already barking at the door.

When she opened the door and saw Lavinia, El stood stunned for a moment. Her mouth opened but no words came out.

Lavinia tapped impatiently with her umbrella on the welcome mat. "Well, are you going to invite me in?" Brushing aside El's fumbled greeting, she strode into the room and shrugged off her coat. Satchmo was generally friendly, even with strangers, but he was going overboard with Lavinia. Fortunately Lavinia didn't seem to mind even when he pawed at her tweed skirt.

Mozzie and Sara joined them in the entry. When El began to introduce Sara, Lavinia stopped her. "We've already met," she said brusquely. "You attended one of my courses on library science. I've seen your byline in the _Arkham Gazette_. Are you here in your capacity of journalist?"

Sara didn't seem in the least intimidated by her abrupt manner. "And as a friend."

Lavinia studied her for a moment then shook her head. "This is unacceptable." Turning to El, she added, "I'll return later."

"No, you won't!" El exclaimed, infuriated. "You'll stay here and tell us what you know. Are Peter and Neal all right? Where are they?"

Lavinia stared at her impassively. "Their condition is unknown but we're trying to ascertain it. As to where they are . . ." She turned to scrutinize Sara once more.

El took two long breaths before speaking. She couldn't make Lavinia angry but she was determined to crack through her granite surface. "Sara can be trusted and you need her as much as we need you."

"Elizabeth's right," Sara added. "You can talk now or I can publish a story in the paper about the disappearance of two professors and how the head librarian of Miskatonic University is involved in the cover-up of the crime."  She raised a brow. "Your choice. Which will it be?"

A slight smile crossed Lavinia's face. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Sara asked suspiciously.

"To the dining room. You want to be included. Before that happens, I must verify that you're not in league with the enemy."

"What enemy?" she demanded.

"You'll know soon enough," she said, "if you pass."

"What about us?" El demanded. "Aren't you worried about us too?"

Lavinia gave another one of those secretive smiles that El found so annoying. As if she knew all the world's mysteries but had determined to keep them to herself. "You and Mozzie I've already tested."

Mozzie waved his spatula like a bidder at an auction. "Stop right there. When did you probe me? I demand to know the circumstances."

She glowered at him for a long moment. "If you must know, it was when you invited me to see an astrolabe you'd purchased."

"When was this?"

"Many years ago," she said with a dismissive huff. "Sometime in the mid '60s as I recall."

Sara gave her a startled look when she mentioned the date and started to speak but before she had a chance, Mozzie took over. "You admit you probed me yet you refuse to go out with me? On what possible grounds could you object?"

And that didn't explain when Lavinia had tested El. Their few encounters had always been during large gatherings. Perhaps physical contact wasn't necessary. Did Lavinia have some sort of psychic ability? Was that how she kept herself so well informed? Sara was clearly impatient to move forward, but El resolved not to let Lavinia leave until she'd explained herself more fully.

"Go ahead," Sara snapped. "You have my permission to test me however you wish. I want answers. If this is the means to obtain them, I'm willing to be subjected to whatever conditions you impose."

Lavinia had Sara sit down on a chair in the dining room. Taking a seat beside her, she peremptorily jabbed two fingers of her right hand onto Sara's left temple and held them firmly in place. Sara sagged back into the chair, her eyes half-closed. It reminded El of a Vulcan mind meld she'd seen Spock perform on _Star Trek_. Mozzie had mentioned how many of the concepts and technology described on that TV series would someday no longer seem impossible. Was this another instance of where the writers had been clairvoyant?

El had seen Lavinia perform the same technique on Neal the night after he'd traveled through a wormhole in the boarded-up Church of St Jude. He appeared to have suffered no ill effects. The possibility that a telepathic link could be established between two minds made El yearn to perform an MRI on Lavinia's brain.

After a couple of minutes, Lavinia released her fingers. "You'll do," she said curtly, as Sara blinked her eyes. "This was a necessary precaution. I make no apology. You were held by the cult for days. I had to be certain you weren't infected."

"How do you feel?" El asked Sara.

"Fine. I don't remember anything that happened. Did I say anything?"

El assured her she hadn't while Lavinia reached into her tapestry bag and pulled out a flask. Snapping her fingers, she demanded glasses.

"Is that emerald wine?" El asked as Mozzie rushed to accommodate her request. He grabbed three cocktail glasses from the buffet and set them down on the table in front of her.

"There's nothing to be feared from it," said Lavinia, pouring about a jigger's worth into each glass. "It will allow you to be objective. You should all drink some."

"Does it contain algolnium?" Mozzie asked eagerly. "Is that why Neal and Peter have the chemical in their systems? I demand an extra dose." He seized the flask from Lavinia and poured a large amount into a glass.

She snatched the glass before he could drink it and poured most of it back into the flask. "You can have only as much as I give you." Shooting daggers at him, she added, "There's no algolnium in the wine. It's perfectly safe to drink but I won't force you. If you don't wish its benefits, that's your decision."

Sara picked up her glass, raised it to Lavinia with a smile as if challenging her to a drinking contest and tossed it down with one gulp. She then reached into her purse, pulled out a notebook, and cocked an impudent eyebrow. "I've done as you ask. Now start talking."

"If this is what it takes, I'll go along," El added and drank her dose. The wine was cool on her tongue. For the briefest moment the image of an ancient forest, its trees covered with moss entered her mind. The anxiety she'd been living under since learning about Peter and Neal's disappearance no longer overwhelmed her. She was aware it was present but she could control it. El looked at Lavinia with fresh appreciation. "Thank you. I begin to understand."

"Truly amazing," Mozzie added. "I look forward to your explanation of how it's made."

Lavinia ignored the glass he shoved in front of her. "You want to know where Neal and Peter are." She glanced over at Neal's paintings hanging on the wall and pointed at the forest. "That's where."

For a second El wondered if they were trapped inside the painting. It made her realize she no longer considered anything impossible. "What do you mean?" she asked. "They're in a forest?"

Lavinia nodded. "But not a forest on Earth. They're on Merope." As Mozzie started to speak, she held up a hand to silence him. "They're on my world, not yours."

El supposed she'd known for a while that the only rational explanation for Lavinia's abilities was that she was an extraterrestrial. That was easier to accept than believing she was a witch. But hearing her admit it left her in shock, even with the emerald wine. She left it up to Mozzie to ask the questions.

"Merope is a star in the constellation of Taurus, a B-type subgiant in the Pleiades star cluster," he said automatically as if addressing a lecture hall. For once, even Mozzie looked flabbergasted.

Lavinia nodded calmly. "My planet orbits Merope. For convenience I've adopted the same term. You wouldn't be able to pronounce the word in my language. Neal dreamed of Merope and used that as inspiration for his painting."

"Why did he dream about it?" Sara asked, her face serious. Not for a second did she appear to question Lavinia's assertion. "Is Neal from there?"

"No, but he has abilities that you don't have, and don't ask me more about them. This is not an appropriate time to discuss them."

"I agreed to accept your conditions," Sara said, "so answer me this instead. How did Peter and Neal travel to Merope?"

"Through a wormhole in the library vault. The evidence indicates that a portal opened in the crystal manuscript. I assume you know what that is."

Peter had described it to El after the initial discovery. "They've been studying it for two months. Did it somehow spontaneously transform into a wormhole portal?"

"I wish that was the case, but I fear Neal and Peter were abducted. You must understand that Merope is no longer a safe place to live. Our world, like yours, was invaded by allies of the Ymar, a hostile race bent on conquest. The consequences for our planet were much more severe, the intrusions more devastating. Our race fled and no longer resides there. A few of us are helping other planets who are also being afflicted by the scourge."

"Is Azathoth one of the Ymar?" Mozzie asked.

She nodded. "To describe them, I'm using the name of their home planet. The planet Ymar is part of Algol's planetary system."

"The Demon Star in the constellation Perseus!" he exclaimed.

She chuckled mirthlessly. "The irony was not lost on us that your race called Algol the Demon Star without knowing how true it was. The Ymar were not satisfied with their own world. For eons they engaged in empire-building. They invaded planets and conquered their inhabitants. They call themselves the Great Old Ones or the Outer Gods, but they are neither. They are scum. Their only desire is to be worshipped and held in fear by the races they enslave."

"Then Azathoth is not an amorphous ball of tentacles like he's depicted?" Mozzie persisted.

She shrugged. "He can be if he so chooses. They're a race of shapeshifters. Azathoth can mold his shape into whatever image he wishes."

"Shapeshifting is possible?" El asked, dumbfounded despite the emerald wine that the type of metamorphosis such as was described in folklore could actually be achievable.

Lavinia nodded her confirmation. "Shapeshifting is common among many advanced races"—She paused for a moment. El could swear she saw a twinkle in her eye—"including Meropians." With that, Lavinia dissolved in a matter of seconds from an African-American woman in tweeds to Vijay Zadok, a fellow neurologist.

El gasped in astonishment. She knew Vijay well. He often substituted for her when she was away at conferences. Now Vijay was sitting across the table from her. The studious young Indian gave her a guileless smile. His eyes held the same questioning look he used when she explained a new technique to him.

Vijay—no, Lavinia—or was that Vijay? El's head was reeling from what she'd just witnessed. Someone refilled her glass with emerald wine and ordered her to drink it. She decided it was Vijay. His voice had the same comfortable, reassuring tone she'd heard him use so effectively with patients.

"You wondered when I tested you," Vijay said. Now he sounded more like Lavinia. "I took his place one day when he'd gone out to lunch. You requested I test an MRI scanner on you and that gave me a suitable opportunity."

El dredged in her memory for what the alien in front of her was referencing. They'd acquired the new MRI scanner in 1971, the same year she'd met Peter . . . Had Lavinia been testing her suitability to be Peter's wife? El tamped down her outrage at the thought. She'd been violated without her permission. What else had Lavinia done to her? This was not the time to protest. Lavinia was the key to Peter and Neal's whereabouts, but that day was coming.

El glanced at the others. They were both looking worriedly at her and she gave them what she hoped was a reassuring nod.

Lavinia dissolved back into her original shape. Turning to Sara, she added. "You will publish none of what I'm telling you."

"No one would believe me if I did," she retorted, "but you have my word."

"And mine," Mozzie added. "But I hope you'll permit me to ask for a clarification. You explained that the Ymar come from a planet in the Algol planetary system. Are zoogs, ghasts, and nightgaunts also from there?"

"You have so much to learn," she muttered with a frown as she studied him. "The Ymar no longer reside on their home world. They were banished long ago to a parallel universe. What you call the A-Brane. All the creatures you mentioned come from a planet in that universe."

"Who banished them?" El asked, caught up in the story and enjoying the lucidity the additional wine gave her.

"Another race of aliens known as the Celaenians. Their goal was to remove the Ymar from Earth so you could be free to evolve naturally. Through use of wormhole technology they eventually succeeded by ejecting the Ymar into the A-Brane. This occurred in the sixth millennium BC."

Sara's eyes flashed understanding. "The wormhole portal Neal and Peter discovered under the mausoleum was one of the wormholes, wasn't it?"

Lavinia nodded approvingly. "To secure their banishment, the Celaenians altered the molecular structure of the Ymar so they can no longer travel through wormholes. They believed they'd permanently sealed the wormholes and that the Ymar could no longer harm the inhabitants of our universe. Unfortunately, that did not turn out to be the case. The Ymar have discovered a way to re-open them and are attempting to make a comeback. They've already conquered Merope. Earth may be next. Although to our knowledge the Ymar have not so far succeeded in passing through wormholes, they've enlisted the help of other species to do their bidding."

"But none of this explains why Neal and Peter are on Merope," El said. "Why would the Ymar want to abduct them?"

"We don't know," Lavinia admitted, "and that's a major concern. We are attempting to rescue them now."

"Who is this 'we' you keep referring to?" Sara asked. "Are there other Meropians on Earth?"

Lavinia studied the three of them without answering. She then turned to Mozzie. "Haven't you been waving that spatula around long enough? You promised me a frittata." When he started to protest, she added firmly, "You've absorbed enough for now. After you've had sustenance, I'll answer more of your questions."

Plainly Lavinia was still in the driver's seat. But after all she'd revealed, this was one time El concurred with her decision.

**On the Planet Merope**

Peter awoke slowly, his head throbbing. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was. Then the memories came back with a rush. The wormhole . . . The attack in the forest.

When he struggled to sit up, someone gripped his shoulders and gently pushed him back to the ground. "Lie still, Peter. You're safe now."

He was in no shape to protest. A sharp pain had erupted in his side at the movement. He'd broken a rib once during a football game. This felt similar. He realized he was lying on the ground in their makeshift shelter. An unfamiliar face loomed over him. A man, apparently human, in his '50s with light brown curly hair crouched beside him. His eyes were set close together on either side of a prominent nose, giving him the appearance of a curious ostrich. He gave Peter an encouraging smile as if to reassure him that he meant no harm. Dim light was being provided by a small globe lying on the ground beside the stranger.

"Do I know you?" asked Peter cautiously.

"Phineas Dittlesworth," he said with a slight nod, "at your service."

"The ornithologist?"

"The very same. My fame has preceded me."

Peter ignored his mocking manner. "Where's Neal—my colleague? Is he all right?"

Phineas frowned and shook his head. "His status is unknown. I arrived on the scene to find you lying on the ground unconscious. I was able to find traces of hoof prints. Judging by the number of them, several ghasts must have been present. I believe they carried Neal away with them."

"You know who I am. You know about ghasts." Peter attempted once more to sit up. His chest had been wrapped and bandaged with what appeared to be standard medical supplies. Was Phineas a medical doctor as well as an ornithologist?

"You were struck by a ghast hoof," Phineas explained to his mute question. "The wound is not severe. I don't believe you broke any ribs, but they're bruised. You also took quite a blow to the back of your head."

"It doesn't hurt much," Peter said, gingerly rubbing the golf ball-sized lump.

"Don't let the absence of pain deceive you," he warned. "I gave you a pain medication. Without it, you would have difficulty functioning."

Peter looked at him with renewed bewilderment. "How did you get here? Were you also sucked into the crystal manuscript?"

His face darkened. "The artifact was destroyed. I had other means."

"Do you know where Neal is?"

"I suspect they've taken him to their stronghold in H'nir."

How did Phineas know so much about this planet? How had he traveled here? Peter's mind reeled from all the questions swirling inside. One rose to the top. "Can you take me there? We have to rescue Neal."

"I agree but we can do nothing till it's light. You should use this time to rest. You'll need all the strength you can muster for tomorrow."

Phineas reached into a canvas knapsack and pulled out a flask. He poured a small amount of fluid into the cap and gave it to Peter. The liquid was thick as milk and pale green in color. Peter gingerly sniffed it before drinking. The subtle fragrance conjured up memories of a meadow he'd explored high in the Himalayas. "Any side effects I should be concerned about?" he asked. He could picture El beside him and her look of dismay at him taking an unknown drug.

"Nothing to fear. You survived a brutal attack by ghasts. You need to recover if you wish to help Neal. This is the fastest way."

Peter took a sip. The liquid was cool on his tongue. Instantly his discomfort began to ease.

Phineas rummaged in the knapsack again. This time he pulled out a small fruit which reminded Peter of an apple but was slate blue in color. He used his pocket knife to slice it into sections and urged Peter to eat a slice.

"Who are you?" Peter repeated, accepting the fruit.

"I already told you."

"No you didn't. Phineas may be the name you're using, but you appear to know the geography of this planet. Are you from here? And where is here? Don't think for a minute I'll get any rest until I have some answers."

"In your position, I'd feel the same," he acknowledged. He helped Peter get more comfortable against the branches of their shelter, using the knapsack as a back cushion.

Peter nibbled on the blue fruit. It reminded him of the taste of pineapple but had a fragrance unlike anything he'd ever experienced. While he ate he listened to an incredible tale. Of the planet Merope, of Phineas and Lavinia—two Meropians who were trying to keep Earth from falling under the control of Azathoth and the other members of his race, the Ymar. That Lavinia was not of Earth, he could believe. But that she was working with Phineas to protect Earth? That would take a while to accept.

"If Meropians are shapeshifters like the Ymar, what do you actually look like?"

"Don't you like my appearance?" he asked sarcastically. "I think I'm quite handsome. Even debonair." He refused to reveal any details. Peter began to detect the resemblance to Lavinia. Meropians were stingy in providing information.

"Did someone intentionally bring Neal and me here?"

He nodded, his expression turning grim. "We believe Azathoth or one of his servants created the wormhole which transported you to Merope."

"The crystal manuscript was made by Azathoth?"

Phineas shook his head. "The crystal manuscript was a priceless artifact from the library on Celaeno, a planet in our stellar neighborhood. Those two suns you saw in the sky? The smaller one is the star Celaeno." He proceeded to relate an account which matched in all particulars the document Neal had translated. Phineas further explained how the crystal manuscript had been stolen from the library at Celaeno. The Meropian who had worked with Laban Shrewsbury, Zophar, had found it on a distant planet and placed it in the Miskatonic library vault for safekeeping. "If we'd known it had been corrupted, we would never have let you and Neal be exposed to it."

Peter had a flash hunch. "Are you Zophar?"

"No, Zophar died many years ago."

"How about the Celaenians? Are they continuing to help us?"

"In their own way, but they no longer live on Celaeno. They became pure energy long ago. We cannot look to them for help." Phineas paused to study him for a moment. "You should sleep now."

Peter shook his head adamantly. "I can't. Not when there is so much that I don't understand. You said the Celaenians became pure energy, but Laban and Andrew visited their library on Celaeno and met with the librarian."

"He was a construct. What you would call a robot but far more advanced than anything you're familiar with. He appeared human to Laban and Andrew as a reassurance. The librarian along with the library no longer exists. They were destroyed over thirty years ago during an attack by agents of the Ymar."

"Can you tell if Neal's alive?"

Phineas looked toward the entrance of the shelter and grew still. After a few minutes, he shook his head. "His mind is closed to me, but I believe he is. You must hold onto that hope, as well. Azathoth seeks him. He wishes to control him, but Neal will be of no value to him if he's dead."

"Neal has the amulet. Won't that help?"

"Not here. That amulet was designed by the Celaenians for use on Earth. On Merope it has no effect." He pressed his fingers to Peter's temple. "Sleep now."

Peter grew immediately drowsy. Struggling to stay awake, he asked, "How did you find me? Can you read minds?"

"Yours I can and it's telling me . . ."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal regained consciousness, he was lying face down, slung over a ghast's back. The ghast's rough, gnarled skin was wet with nauseating sweat. Neal gagged but nothing came out. The ghast pounded relentlessly through the forest, jerking him with each movement. Other ghasts were running alongside them. 

It was still night. Neal's stomach felt on fire from where the ghast had kicked him. The constant thud of hooves reverberated in his skull. There were five ghasts that he could see. None of them was carrying Peter. Had he managed to escape? That was his only source of comfort in the nightmare of the journey.

The ghasts ran through the forest, trampling anything in their path. Vines lashed at him as they plowed through thick undergrowth. Neal longed to grab hold of them and swing free, but his wrists and ankles were bound with thick ropes.

The next time he awoke, he wished he hadn't. His senses reeled from the stench of the ghast. He'd already been sick several times. All that was left was dry heaves. The ghast ignored him.

Neal could feel his amulet against his chest. It appeared to be useless. The one carrying him seemed to be healthy enough. Had the amulet been damaged in the wormhole or the attack?

A tree branch slashing across his back sparked awareness. Neal heard the guttural deep roar of a massive animal. What did Peter think it was? He couldn't remember now. His mind wouldn't cooperate. If only the motion would stop. He couldn't heave again. It made the pain that much more unbearable.

When he once more became aware of his surroundings, they were descending stone steps. Dimly he saw ancient walls covered with vegetation. Sickly-looking plants grew in the crevices. Three of the ghasts split off. The one carrying him and another ghast entered an open doorway then marched down dark corridors. 

Finally the ghast stopped. Seizing Neal's side with its claws, it shoved Neal off his shoulder. Helpless to brake his fall, Neal crashed onto a stone floor. Oblivion came as a welcome release.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

A soft murmur woke Peter up. When he opened his eyes, he saw one of the bushbabies they'd seen the previous day. It was sitting comfortably on Phineas's lap. The two of them appeared to be conducting a conversation. After everything else that had gone on, Peter wasn't surprised that Phineas could speak its language. Did that mean Phineas's true shape was that of a bushbaby?

In the opening of their shelter the sky was beginning to lighten. The color of predawn light on Merope was different than on Earth. There was a copper tinge to the ghostly gray which reminded Peter of the Cinereous Vultures he'd observed in Morocco. Soon they could start the search for Neal. Did that cinereous sky foretell the dawn of Neal's rescue or was it a harbinger of worse to come?

Peter sat up, wincing at the movement. His chest was still sore. He drew in a few tentative deep breaths and didn't feel any sharp pain.

"Good morning," said Phineas cheerfully. 

Peter rubbed his eyes. "Who's your friend? We saw others like him yesterday."

"This is a . . . let's call him a _chittak_. That's close enough to the term we use."

"Is he one of your species?"

"Hardly!" He poured out a capful of the same liquid he'd given Peter earlier. "Drink this. You'll need it for today. We'll leave as soon as you've eaten."

He gave Peter another one of the blue apples to eat. It wasn't ham and eggs but surprisingly sustaining. The chittak jumped next to Peter then proceeded to climb up his shirt to perch on his shoulder. It chittered softly in his ear.

"Neal dreamed about these in Lavinia's office," Peter said, tickling it behind its ears. "Does she have chittaks in her rafters?"

He nodded but didn't elaborate. "Chittaks have been monitoring you since your arrival on Merope. Particularly relevant is that they observed the attack last night."

Peter dropped the slice of fruit from his hand. "Do they know where Neal is? How is he?"

The chittak darted down and scooped up the piece of fruit, munching it eagerly. Peter was happy to share with anyone who had news of Neal.

"The last time they saw him, he was alive—trussed over a ghast's back. Neal was taken to H'nir as I feared."

"Is that far away?"

"It's a half-day trek through the forest. H'nir is an ancient city of my people. It was seized by the forces of the Ymar and now serves as a garrison for ghasts." Phineas's face took on a somber cast. "It's a bad business. The chittak said Sornoth has been seen prowling the forest. Worse yet, he was spotted in H'nir. Sornoth was probably the one who lured you to Merope."

"Is he one of the Ymar?"

"No, he's one of their servants, but don't let that mislead you. Sornoth's malevolence is equal to that of Azathoth. We suspect he was genetically bred to perform the Ymar's bidding. Ghasts were once human, you know. Azathoth bred the first ghasts from ancient Egyptians."

Phineas said it matter-of-factly, but Peter was stunned that such creatures devolved from humans.

"The Ymar are unable to enter our universe," Phineas added. "They were banished by the Celaenians to what you call the A-Brane. But other inhabitants of that universe have been able to penetrate through wormholes. Ghasts, zoogs, and nightgaunts—all come from there. Sornoth resembles a black saber-toothed leopard but is much larger than any of Earth's leopards. Did you hear roars in the forest last night?"

"That was Sornoth?"

"Yes. You should hold no delusions about the difficulty of our challenge. Sornoth is no ordinary foe. We believe Azathoth doesn't want to kill Neal, but Sornoth may not care."

Peter quickly finished the fruit. Phineas said it would take several hours to reach H'nir. There were no trails to follow. They'd be creating their own path through the forest and it would be slow going. But water and fruit they'd have in abundance.  

Phineas glanced through the opening of their shelter, scanning the forest warily. "If you're up to it, we must delay no further. Our objective is to rescue Neal and escape the planet before twilight. Once darkness descends, the ghasts will find us easy prey."

Although Phineas didn't voice it aloud, Peter sensed that if they didn't succeed today, there would be no second chance.

 

* * *

_Notes: Sornoth takes center stage in next week's chapter. Casting a saber-toothed leopard as the villain was Peter's idea. It's a reference to Klaus Mansfeld, aka the Leopard, who along with his brother Rolf kidnapped Neal in my previous story, Nocturne in Black and Gold. That's only one of the many messages to Azathoth. The story's title is another one. I've written about them for our blog. The title of the post is "[Messages to Azathoth: A Cinereous Dawn](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/12/messages-to-azathoth-cinereous-dawn.html)."_

_Penna wrote about her upcoming vignette,[Wish on a Star](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/12/the-new-vignette-wish-on-star.html), for our blog. She'll post the story around the end of the year. _

_Happy New Year! If you'd like to participate in New Year reveling with the Caffrey Conversation crew, they celebrate New Year's 2004 in By the Book and 2005 in Caffrey Aloha._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[www.pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_


	4. Sornoth

**On Merope**

Under different circumstances Peter would have rejoiced at exploring a wilderness of such beauty. As he trekked through a forest of ancient moss-covered trees with Phineas, he caught glimpses of the friendly chittaks. Birds continued to be widespread. Notably lacking was the presence of large ground-dwelling animals. Phineas explained that the ghasts had wreaked havoc on many species.

In daylight they had no reason to fear the allies of the Ymar. The creatures of Azathoth's world haunted the darkness.

Peter resolved to take advantage of their journey to learn more about the beings who'd invaded Earth. "You said the Ymar conquered Earth eleven thousand years ago. That was during the Neolithic when humans had only formed primitive settlements."

"That's what you believe to be the case, but your knowledge is incomplete. Our information is not much better. What little we know is based on reports from the Celaenians. They recorded that in approximately 12,000 BC your planet was colonized by a race of aliens called the Elnath. You may be familiar with the term _Elder Thing_?"

"I've seen them mentioned in the _Necronomicon_. Alhazred described them as monsters which roamed Earth at the dawn of time."

Phineas snorted, as he held up a vine for Peter to pass under. "Don't believe everything you read in that book. The Elnath weren't monsters but an advanced species. The star which was at the center of the planetary system they inhabited was dying. They sent out spaceships to discover a new home. Your planet was chosen. There may have been additional planets they colonized, but the Celaenians didn't mention any others. At that time your race was still in a primitive state, illiterate with no social structure. The Elnath established several city-states throughout the globe and were slowly educating the indigenous peoples as their capacity to learn permitted."

"This was the culture the Ymar destroyed?"

"That's correct. When the Ymar invaded, they obliterated the Elnath city-states. They built their own empire using Earth's inhabitants as slave labor."

"Was there any particular reason they chose Earth?"

"That I do not know, but you weren't alone in suffering their brutality. The Ymar were a plague on the entire galaxy, living as parasites on the worlds they conquered. The Celaenians were alarmed at their destructive force and sought to render them impotent."

"They must have emerged victorious." Peter paused to wipe the sweat off his face with his sleeve. "Or we wouldn't be here."

Phineas handed him a flask of water. "In circa 5,800 BC Celaenians succeeded in banishing the last remnants of the Ymar to the A-Brane."

"The disk in the crypt that we used to close the wormhole was dated to approximately the same time. Was it created by them?"

Phineas nodded. "They used wormholes to send the Ymar into exile. The disks were left as safeguard mechanisms in case the wormholes reopened. They believed they had eliminated the Ymar from the galaxy. On Earth, they erased all the evidence they could find of alien cultures. Their hope was that you would be able to develop freely without any extraterrestrial influence."

"But that wasn't to be, was it?"

He shook his head. "The Elnath were the first we know of to make use of wormhole technology. When the Ymar conquered them, they enslaved their scientists. The Celaenians discovered to their dismay that already by the Old Kingdom in Egypt the Ymar were creating wormholes to link their world to yours. Elnath slaves working for the Ymar may have been responsible. At first the wormholes only lasted for a few minutes, but gradually the Ymar have refined their ability to keep wormholes open for longer periods of time."

"If Celaenians cared enough to help Earth in the beginning, why didn't they return to finish the job?"

"They did," Phineas said. "At least two times that we know of. Since the Ymar themselves weren't entering your world and the wormholes were of short duration, the Celaenians didn't perceive you be at high risk. You have to remember your planet is only one of many they were attempting to keep safe. On a few occasions they dispatched an emissary to instruct a representative of your species to act as a guardian of sorts. The first time we know occurred in Damascus in the 700s."

"Alhazred!" Peter exclaimed.

He nodded. "The emissary attempted to use the author of the _Necronomicon_ as a conduit for their warnings, but he quickly realized it was futile. Your species simply hadn't developed enough to understand the advanced concepts they wished to teach. Alhazred became convinced the Ymar were gods and began worshiping them. He was branded a lunatic and heretic. After that disaster, for many hundreds of years no additional attempt was made. In 1520, an emissary was sent to Heinrich Agrippa. By then the Celaenians had learned to be more circumspect, but Agrippa still wasn't able to divorce himself from the superstitions of his time. They concluded that humans simply weren't ready to undertake the challenge."

"When did your race first have contact with Celaenians?"

"About five hundred of your years ago when our world was attacked. Afterward, we formed an alliance to do what we could to help others. Now we work alone."

Alone. That word sent a chill through Peter despite the steamy conditions. Neal was alone. The prisoner of Sornoth. Phineas thought Azathoth wanted him alive. If he knew why the alien wanted Neal, he didn't reveal it.

They trekked another two hours before Phineas called a halt. He stated the obvious when he said, "You need to rest."

Peter wasn't about to argue with him. His injuries didn't bother him, but he was bone-weary. As the suns rose higher in the sky, the heat also increased. He appropriated a fallen log to sit on. Phineas pulled out more of the blue apples from his knapsack. Peter was beginning to think of them as the Meropian equivalent to C-Rations.

"After we rescue Neal, I assume you have a plan to return to Earth. Will we return the same way you came here?"

"That's not possible. My device isn't designed for your physiognomy. The Celaenians built a permanent wormhole with flexible parameters. We deployed it for large-scale evacuations to our new home. I intend to use it to send you to Earth."

"Have you ever tested it with a human?" Peter didn't know why he was being so cautious. Staying on Merope was not a viable option.

Although Phineas asserted the wormhole had been employed before to travel to Earth, the news was not as reassuring as it should be. His normal confident manner had been replaced by a more guarded expression which was disquieting.

"What aren't you telling me?" Peter demanded. "Don't I deserve to understand what we face?"

"You would have found out eventually," conceded Phineas reluctantly. "It might as well be now. I tested the wormhole on Thaddeus Shrewsbury."

"Neal's advisor was here?" Peter's mouth dropped open in his astonishment. "When?"

"Thaddeus was abducted from the library vault in 1974."

That was shortly before he fell into a coma. Peter's stomach plummeted to the ground. Was the abduction the cause of his illness or his return trip?

"At the time we didn't realize how Thaddeus had been taken," Phineas explained, keeping his eyes fixed on Peter as if monitoring his reaction. "We now believe the crystal manuscript provided the mechanism. If we'd known of its involvement, we would have destroyed it then and there. I came to Merope to rescue him like I did for you. Thaddeus had also been seized by Sornoth." Phineas fell silent for a few moments. "His wounds were serious, but I believed if he could survive till we reached the wormhole he would be healed."

"Mozzie has a theory that when we enter a wormhole, ghost images remain on Earth. They enable our molecular structure to be reconstituted."

"A provocative concept," said Phineas noncommittally.

"It was the only semi-rational explanation any of us could think of for why the injuries we suffered off-world vanished without a trace once we returned to Earth." Peter hoped that Phineas would either confirm the concept or offer a better explanation.

"I accompanied Thaddeus on his voyage home," Phineas said, dashing Peter's hopes for enlightenment. "At first all appeared well. His wounds were healed. He was unconscious when we arrived, but that was not initially a concern. You, too, have blacked out every time you've gone through a wormhole."

Peter nodded agreement. Unlike him, Neal retained consciousness. Peter suspected it was because he had much more algolnium.

"Unfortunately, Thaddeus never awoke. Your doctors called it a coma, and perhaps that's what it was."

"Was his coma caused by his injuries or the wormhole?" Peter demanded. His voice sounded harsh to his ears.

"We can't be certain," Phineas admitted. "Perhaps a combination of the two. His injuries were life-threatening. I had no choice but to make the attempt."

"If the wormhole provoked Thaddeus's coma, what makes you think our fate won't be the same?"

"I'm counting on Neal," he said impassively.

"I don't understand. Is it because he has more algolnium?"

"No." He glanced up at the sky. "We must move on if we're to arrive at H'nir by midday."

"I've had enough rest," Peter said, standing up. He debated pressing Phineas for details, but sensed it would be futile. Phineas was more congenial than Lavinia but he too appeared to have preconceptions of how much to divulge. Peter wondered how much of that reticence was because of the Celaenian failures.

Phineas shot him a quick look as if he'd read his thoughts. "I know it's frustrating. I'd hoped we'd be able to discuss your questions on Earth. Neal should be present. You've been very patient and I ask for you to hold off a little while longer."

They'd only walked a few paces when a chittak dropped down on Phineas's shoulder and chittered in his ear. Phineas listened intently, responding with similar sounds. Afterward he turned to Peter. "We must hasten our pace."

"Has the chittak seen Neal?"

"No, but several of our scouts did. They're with him now."

"Scouts? You mean the chittaks?"

"No, they're too large to escape undetected. Our scouts are much smaller. They passed word to the chittaks. Neal received serious injuries during the ghast attack. Sornoth was away when Neal arrived in H'nir but the scouts have now detected his presence in the ruins. We must attempt to free him before Sornoth comes for him."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal became aware of his surroundings again, it didn't take long to realize he wasn't actually awake. Mozzie's cat Betelgeuse couldn't be there. That wasn't his warm raspy tongue on his face. But it was a good dream.

Betelgeuse was giving Neal a thorough grooming, and he didn't attempt to open his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being tossed onto the floor by a ghast. This was paradise in comparison. Absolutely no need to return to reality.

Betelgeuse felt different. A tiny ribbon of a tongue. Had Betelgeuse shrunk in his dream? Gradually he became aware Betelgeuse wasn't alone. He'd brought kittens along and they were all licking him.

Neal attempted to lift a hand to stroke one of them, but he couldn't lift it. What kind of lousy dream includes the sensation of ropes cutting into your wrists? This was just a dream, Neal reminded himself firmly. He could will those bounds to disappear.

But after a couple of minutes of focused concentration, they were as tight as ever. His dream was turning into a nightmare. There was a leaden ache in his stomach which showed no signs of disappearing either.

Neal slowly pieced together the fragments of his memory. The interminable trek through the rainforest. Had Peter managed to elude the ghasts? Neal hadn't seen him since the attack. Maybe Peter had found a wormhole and was able to escape. He was already back in Arkham, safe with El. Neal let his mind rest on that thought. What happened to him didn't seem so important now . . .

The gash on his forehead didn't hurt as much. That was a positive. He supposed eventually he should wake up. If he opened his eyes, Betelgeuse and the kittens would vanish and he'd be left with a pack of ghasts. Not the most pleasant sight, but it had to be done. Neal roused his sluggish eyelids and cracked a peek.

He blinked again. This was no ghast in front of him. Plainly he was still dreaming.

On the ground next to his head was a mouse-sized creature staring at him with enormous eyes. It looked more like a lemur than a rodent with ginger-colored fur and a minuscule button nose. It jumped onto Neal's face and began licking industriously at a cut under his eye. He could feel the paws of a second one on his forehead, also licking a wound. Neal decided to relax and enjoy the moment. It could be worse. He could be having nightmares about nightgaunts. The tongue action of the lemurs was incredibly soothing.

He counted five animals but there might be more. They weren't just licking his head. He could see others working on his other injuries. Neal let his eyes drift over his surroundings. He was lying on his right side, still trussed. No windows but the stone walls appeared to be covered in a green slimy substance that glowed faintly. It did little to dispel the murky gloom of his prison but Neal could make out the details well enough.

The stone floor was littered with bones. Large, small, all picked clean.

_"Those are ghast bones. The remains of Sornoth's feasts."_

"Who said that?" Neal scanned his cell as much as he was able. He appeared to be alone except for the lemurs.

One of them jumped down on the floor and peered into his eyes. " _I did."_

Neal didn't think it was polite to argue, but the lemur's lips weren't moving. Somehow the words just formed inside Neal's mind. Was he dreaming or hallucinating? He felt like he'd landed inside a Walt Disney movie. The lemurs resembled Cinderella's mice. Was Neal in a campy version of _The Jungle Book_ where he was Mowgli and Cinderella had sent her mice to help him? The lemurs were scampering about but instead of making a dress, they were working on him. He must be in worse shape than he thought to be comforted by that.

" _You're going too fast."_ The lemur licked his nose in an apparent bid for attention. _"I can't follow your thoughts."_

Neal started to drift off again but the lemur wouldn't stop licking his nose. "Are you inside my head?" Neal asked.

 _"That's right!"_ The lemur rubbed its nose against his cheek. _"We can read each other's thoughts."_

That proved it. He was definitely hallucinating. Still, the lemurs were a lot better than the terrifying visions of the abyss he used to dream about over the summer or the grim reality of ghasts. Neal decided to play along for as long as his hallucination would let him. "Where am I?"

The lemur told him about an ancient city called H'nir and the planet they were on, Merope. Amazing what stories his imagination was inventing. He'd been reading about Merope in the vault. That must have been the inspiration of his dream. The lemur called itself a shilka. The bushbabies Neal had seen where chittaks. The chittaks had contacted the shilkas to help him. Since his nose-licking friend seemed to know so much, Neal asked him about Peter. The shilka informed him that Peter was with Phineas, and they were coming to get him. Phineas, of course. He would dream of Phineas. Neal had seen the poster about him on the bulletin board.

Neal tried to picture his loft, his office, but the memories were fading. A distant world that no longer existed. The pain in his stomach was lessening. It too was hollow. Without meaning. Like his head. He no longer felt anxious. Just sleepy. The shilka was telling him about how Peter and Phineas were coming to rescue him.

"Good. 'Cause you know . . . I insist on a  . . . happy ending."

When next he awoke he was dumbfounded to see the shilkas still there. Only now there were fewer of them. A recurring hallucination? Was this how his mind coped? Neal no longer ached as much but he had no energy, not even to flex his wrists.

The shilkas continued their ministrations. As hallucinations go, they were the most entertaining he'd had in quite a while. 

"Where's Peter? I thought you said he and Phineas would rescue me? I don't want to complain, but I'm ready. Any time now would be good."

One of them peered anxiously at him. " _Soon. You mustn't give up hope_."

"You don't seem scared of me. Don't you think I'm awfully big?"

" _You're not the first of your kind we've seen_."

"You're referring to Phineas?"

The shilka gave a series of high-pitched squeaks. Was that laughter? " _He doesn't look like you at all_." It flashed an image into Neal's mind.

"Thaddeus?" Neal blurted incredulously. "You know Thaddeus?"

" _Is that what you call him? He didn't seem to understand us, but he was here for three sunrises before Phineas rescued him. Did he tell you about us?_ "

Neal shook his head. "Thaddeus is dead now," he whispered.

" _Did Sornoth kill him?_ "

"Who is Sornoth?" Another image flashed into his mind. A huge black leopard. It was gnawing on a ghast in between low rumbles. When it lifted his head Neal saw vicious fangs like on a saber-toothed tiger. Was there such a thing as a saber-toothed leopard? In his dreamworld there was. The leopard opened his mouth and let out a roar. It was the same roar that Neal had heard in the forest, but now deafeningly loud. Neal shook with fear. He longed to hide, run, anything to get away.

" _You understand now. That is Sornoth. The evil that haunts Merope. From him no one is safe_."

"But this can't be right. I'm dreaming of _The Jungle Book_. In the movie, the leopard is my friend. He's my protector, my mentor. He wouldn't hurt me. You must be referring to the tiger, Shere Khan, not Bagheera."

The shilka approached closer till its nose almost touched Neal's. Its dark eyes bored into his. "I see your images. My thoughts are being translated into something you can understand. You are not dreaming. This is a not a fantasy. It's real and Sornoth will come for you. We wish we could keep him away but we cannot. You'll have to face him alone."

Another roar blasted Neal, much louder than ever before. Its rumbling aftershocks reverberated off the walls of the cell. Frantic to muffle the sound, Neal struggled to shield his ears with his hands, but he was still bound. The frightened squeaks of the shilkas were an alarm call. They scurried off to dart into a chink in the stone wall.

One lingered at the crack and turned back to look at him. " _Don't give up. We'll be back!_ " Then it too vanished.

It had to be bad if even your hallucinations fled. Neal strained anxiously to hear any sounds, but his cell had grown quiet. Too quiet. Was this to be his fate? Dinner for a leopard? He could hear Mozzie's voice in his head. _"Take careful notes of all your experiences." Sorry, Mozz, you really don't want to know._

His heart hammering, he attempted to twist his head behind him. A dark opening led into a narrow corridor.  Neal tried in vain to flop onto his other side to face the entrance, but he was too weak.

A low rumble in the corridor. Two incandescent golden eyes shone in the darkness. Soft thuds of massive paws.

Sornoth.

His shaggy black fur was streaked with gray. As he stalked into the cell, he emitted a roar so guttural, it hurt Neal's ears. His fangs glinted like sabers in the obscurity of the cell.

Sornoth slunk toward him, his ears flattened against his head. The heavy dark sound of his breathing robbed Neal of any will to resist. Nightmare, hallucination, delirium? Neal was beyond terror with a fear that previously he'd only experienced in the abyss.

Sornoth approached within inches of him, sniffing Neal's head, his back. The beast smelled of decay.

With a snarl he leaped over Neal to crouch directly in front of him. Pausing only for an instant, he seized Neal's left side in his jaws and clamped down.

Razor-sharp stabs sliced through him. Then nothing. No pain. Was this shock? Neal's breathing slowed as he stared into the face of Sornoth. An icy paralysis froze his limbs. It couldn't end like this. Not with Sornoth.

The shilkas said Peter and Phineas were coming. Into Sornoth's trap? Neal fought the encroaching darkness to focus his thoughts. Peter wouldn't be able to hear them, but it was all he could do. _Peter . . . Stay away . . ._

**Gilman Townhouse. November 15, 1975. Saturday morning.**

"Do you believe Lavinia?" Sara asked. Elizabeth and Mozzie knew Lavinia better than her. She was willing to rely on their judgment.

Sara had no basis to contradict Lavinia's claim that Neal and Peter had been stranded on the planet Merope. Apparently the only person who could save them was a shapeshifter named Phineas Dittlesworth. El knew who he was—an ornithologist at Oxford University. He was scheduled to give a lecture next week at Miskatonic University. First a librarian, now an Oxford professor. Just how many shapeshifters were walking among them? Did Meropians have a particular fondness for academic settings? Should a test be given to all faculty members to determine their genetic makeup? What test would work?

Mozzie had been uncharacteristically silent during Lavinia's explanation. As for herself, she'd just had her brain probed, then been told her friends had been abducted to an alien planet, all the while sipping emerald-colored wine. Sara prided herself on maintaining her cool no matter what, but this was testing her fortitude to the limit.

El was plainly shaken. She tried to put a positive spin to Lavinia's incredible tale, saying it was better than hearing Peter and Neal had been run over by a truck.

"I've never known Lavinia to be wrong," Mozzie declared. "Cryptic as quantum field theory? Of course. Mysterious as a black hole? Obviously. But to my knowledge she's never lied. And what little she divulges has invariably been proven correct."

"But she didn't say Professor Dittlesworth would be able to rescue them," El pointed out. "Simply that he was their best hope. When we grilled her for more information, her uncertainty became apparent. She kept referring to Thaddeus and what happened to him. That doesn't inspire me with any sense of relief."

"Did anyone else find it curious that she referred to Neal's former advisor?" Sara asked. "Lavinia seemed to be implying that she hoped Neal didn't wind up in a coma like him. Does that mean Thaddeus was spirited away to Merope too?"

"I hadn't considered that," El said. "There were rumors that Thaddeus had succumbed to vault madness. Peter told me Lavinia had also mentioned that as the probable cause."

"Do _you_ believe in vault madness?" Mozzie asked.

"No," said El firmly. "I examined the evidence and studied the autopsy results for all the suspected cases. There has to be a physiological cause. We simply haven't uncovered it yet. In Thaddeus's case I'm concerned what role algolnium may have had in his coma."

Thaddeus, like Neal and Peter, was a carrier of the rare element. No one brought up the possibility that Neal and Peter might fall into a similar state, but the possibility was real. Sara thought about all the hours Neal and Peter spent in the vault.  

"Lavinia was probably using vault madness as a smokescreen," Mozzie said, taking off his glasses to polish the lenses with his handkerchief. "It's evident that she has no intention of disclosing anything more than what she views to be absolutely essential. It's what we've all grown to expect from her." He sighed heavily. Was there a touch of the would-be Romeo in his expression? Neal had told her that Mozzie was attempting to date Lavinia. Now that he knew she was a shapeshifting alien, she must be more alluring than ever.

"Still, we should be buoyed by the amount of information she bestowed upon us," he said, rousing himself. "Neal and Peter aren't facing the challenges alone. The forces at work are not all evil. We've been privileged to become the confidants of a species from another world. Let us pause for a moment and reflect on that. How can we help but feel confident this will end well?"

Hyperbole aside, Mozzie did provide Sara with a measure of optimism. Even El was smiling wistfully at his words. But Sara was not the sort to sit quietly and let others assume command. She had work to do.

"I have a meeting scheduled with Diana later this morning," she told them. "Originally I'd planned to discuss the circumstances surrounding Laban Shrewsbury's death. How much, if any, of this should I tell her? Shouldn't we let her know what we suspect? She's been told about the previous wormholes. I realize I can't mention anything about Lavinia or Merope, but should I inform her we suspect Neal and Peter were sucked into a wormhole?"

"Diana doesn't know anything about the algolnium Neal and Peter have," El reminded her. "Even if you told her about Lavinia, I doubt she'd believe you. I saw her turn into my colleague in front of my eyes and still doubt it really happened. You should consider your career. You don't want to lose your standing with the police department." She chuckled wearily. "I sound exactly like Neal did a couple of months ago when he was seeing ghasts but no one else was. He feared he was schizophrenic. I now have much more sympathy for why he was so reticent to share his experiences."

Sara nodded sympathetically. She hadn't given Neal enough credit for opening up to her. He must have been concerned she'd brand him a lunatic.

"In any case, what help can the police provide?" Mozzie asked. "It's not like they can fly off to Merope."

"No, but they can keep searching for them," El said sharply. Her raw emotions were reflected in her voice. "I'm doing my best to believe that Lavinia's right. Dittlesworth will somehow manage to bring them home. But what condition will they be in? Where will they arrive? When we asked Lavinia, all she would say was that she expected it to be soon. Don't we want the police to be on the alert, actively looking for them? They could rematerialize on a highway or in the Miskatonic River." When her voice began to quaver, she stopped to swallow and take a breath.

Sara reached out and grasped her hand. "Leave it to me. I'll make sure Diana gets the message."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Diana was in a meeting with Captain Hughes when Sara arrived at the police station. By now everyone knew her. The sympathetic desk sergeant allowed her to sit by Diana's desk to wait.

There weren't many detectives around. Jones was out on patrol. With no one to talk to, Sara's thoughts kept returning to Neal. What was he doing? She longed to be with him and Peter, no matter how dangerous it was. She and Mozzie should form a club. Fate was squeezing them out of the action and it needed to stop _now_.  

It was so unfair. She was the adventurer, not Neal. He was no Clint Eastwood or Bruce Lee. He might charm a princess with his good lucks and understated wit, but he'd never star in a western or take down the bad guys with rapid karate chops. He needed her.

Which raised the question, what kind of movie would Neal be in? She looked around. The captain's door was still closed. No telling how much longer Diana would be. To distract herself, Sara began to sort through appropriate movies for Neal. She was an expert on movies, after all. She often filled in for the movie critic at the paper when he was on vacation.

Neal was a natural for Dustin Hoffman's role in _The Graduate_ or perhaps Jimmy Stewart in _Arsenic and Old Lace_. A romantic lead? Definitely. With those blue eyes and disarming smile, he'd have the women lined up just like his students. Let's see . . . Ryan O'Neal in _Love Story_. Neal would have been _so_ much better in that part. Robert Redford's role in _The Great Gatsby_? He could have played either Gatsby or Nick Carraway. Perhaps James Bond. The female spies would find him irresistible. Of course, he'd have to let her dispatch all the villains.

Because clearly they were meant to be together. He was the cerebral John Steed. She was Emma Peel. He wasn't supposed to be off on a distant planet with her grounded on Earth.

Sara sniffed and reached into her bag for a tissue. Diana couldn't see her like this. She'd misunderstand. Sara was the tough reporter who'd been aced out of an assignment, not an emotional wreck worrying about her—

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Diana said, striding over.

Sara quickly stashed her tissue in her bag and composed herself. Sara Pabodie, hard-nosed journalist, was once more present and in control of the situation. "I assume there's no news to report?"

"That's right. Have you discovered anything?"

Sara fed her the agreed-upon account that Mozzie and El feared the men had been sucked into another wormhole.

Diana wasn't surprised. She must have already suspected as much. Sara didn't reveal where the wormhole had formed and before Diana could question her further, changed the subject to the Shrewsburys.

Diana had been true to her word and had researched the circumstances surrounding Laban Shrewsbury's death in June of 1931. "The fire was believed to have been deliberately set because the blaze took hold so quickly. Shrewsbury was the only one home at the time. In 1925, his son Thaddeus was a graduate student at Harvard." Diana paused and pursed her lips. "The investigating team believes that Laban may have set the blaze himself as an act of suicide."

"Why would he have killed himself?" The possibility added a new wrinkle to the line Sara was pursuing.

"Laban's wife died in 1929 from pneumonia when he was away on an expedition. Thaddeus admitted that at the time of Laban's death he was estranged from his father. The investigator made a note that Thaddeus faulted Laban for having neglected his wife. The police interviewed several of Laban's colleagues who corroborated that the deceased had minimal contact with his wife for several years. It was a classic case of abandonment to pursue his career. A couple of them expressed the opinion that Laban might have been overwhelmed with remorse and decided to end his life."

"Who identified the body?"

"A fellow archaeologist at the university."

"Was there anything unusual in the personal effects?"

Diana checked the file in front of her. "There was a note that his journals had been transferred to the university library vault in 1929 when he returned from his last expedition. Laban was wearing a pendant at the time of the fire. That proved helpful to the colleague who identified him. Laban had been so badly burned, his features were almost unrecognizable. The colleague remembered having seen the pendant on him."

Sara's breath quickened. "Do you have a photo of it?"

"Documentation back then was not up to our standards." Diana frowned as she scanned the file. "There's no photo. The pendant was described as a small bronze disk. One of the detectives questioned the colleague about it because it looked ancient. He thought it might be valuable and wondered if a botched robbery had been the cause of the fire."

"It sounds a little like the pendant that Neal was wearing when he was found on the streets of Arkham as a child," Sara said, musing aloud. "I wonder if it was Thaddeus who gave it to him."

"It's possible," Diana agreed. "All of Laban's personal effects were turned over to Thaddeus. Do you know if he ever commented about the pendant to Neal?"

"I'm sure he didn't," Sara said, "but there is one link. Neal had given me a photograph to research which Thaddeus had left him in his will. In the photograph a young man is shown wearing Neal's pendant. I've been able to identify him as Laban's assistant, Andrew Phelan. The photograph was taken in the early 1930s. It shows Andrew with a little girl who is probably his daughter. We've speculated that Andrew could be Neal's grandfather and the little girl his mother."

Diana was rapidly jotting down notes. "Thaddeus could have given Andrew the pendant . . . perhaps as a memento of Laban. These cold cases are such a challenge," she added, her tone softening. "With so many of the people now deceased, discovering the truth about Neal's parents will be difficult. He's lucky to have your help."

"I wish I could give him better news. You'd mentioned you've been digging through old records too. Did you have any luck in finding other starfish-related cases?"

Diana nodded, looking pleased at the question. "I've been able to find records for a similar crime wave. In 1931, Boston experienced a rash of murders. A serial killer was suspected to be present, with carved starfish left at the crime scenes."

"That sounds just like what happened in Arkham!"

"It's almost an exact parallel. The starfish disappeared from the evidence room like ours did. The police tried to cover up the mysterious circumstances. In our case we were able to use surveillance cameras to prove the starfish simply vanished. They didn't have the ability back then. The Boston chief of police believed that the killer might have an accomplice within the police ranks who was stealing the starfish. The killer was never found but after a string of seven murders, there were no more incidents."

Sara pondered for a moment. "1931 was the year Laban died. If an open wormhole was letting ghasts enter Boston, there may have been one in Arkham as well. Could ghasts be involved with the fire which killed Laban?"

"It's tempting to think there is a link," Diana agreed. "How does this square with what you're finding out about Andrew Phelan?"

"His wife gave birth in March of that year. In June Laban was killed. That same month Andrew quit his job at Harvard, and vanished from public records."

She and Diana spun possibilities for a few minutes, but they would have to remain mere speculation until there was more evidence unearthed. Sara hadn't asked Lavinia about the Shrewsburys. Now that Sara had submitted to her bizarre test, Lavinia might be more receptive.

Sara decided to visit her in the library. She had to keep busy doing something. Were there ghasts on Merope? Lavinia hadn't specified what dangers they faced. The high priest at Leng had told Neal he'd call for him. Was that what had happened? Still more questions for Lavinia.

"He's tougher than he looks." Sara looked up to see Diana watching her, sympathy in her eyes.

"He's an academic not a warrior." Sara pointed out. It was disconcerting to see that El's stress was rubbing off on her. Neal was a friend and a colleague, but there was no need to become emotional.

"Don't sell him short," Diana retorted.

"That wasn't my—" Sara said, dismayed she'd been misunderstood.

"I've seen him tackle ghasts and emerge victorious," Diana said, cutting short Sara's fumbled response. "Peter served in the Navy. Call it luck, call it skill—hell, call it Neal's psychic powers—but they'll be okay. They've gone through two wormholes that I know of and returned unscathed. My hunch is that they'll be all right." Diana's expression implied that she suspected Sara knew more than she'd revealed but she didn't press her.

What did Diana really think was going on? Sara wished she had her confidence. Hers was evaporating by the moment.

Diana glanced at her watch. "It's almost lunchtime. I could use a break. You free?"

"How about the coffeehouse?" Sara asked, grateful for the suggestion. "It's close. Jack's added some new sandwiches to the menu." Maybe something positive could come out of the day. She had yet to speak to Diana about Jack. This would give her the opening she needed.

Neal and Peter were beyond her help. They were forced to confront whatever dangers existed on Merope with only an unproven shapeshifter to assist them. Lavinia had transformed herself into one of El's colleagues. Sara hoped Phineas had a more useful trick up his sleeve.

Neal and Peter needed a protector. Someone the size of King Kong with the heart and skill of Superman. Was Phineas up to the task?

 

* * *

_Notes: When Mozzie first dubbed an unknown cybercriminal Azathoth, he linked him to the Outer Gods of Cthulhu Mythos mythology—amorphous, omnipotent beings. The Arkham Round Table decided it was time for a demotion. No longer gods, the Ymar are a hostile race of aliens. They're the subject of my blog post this week: "[Messages to Azathoth: Gods No Longer](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2018/01/messages-to-azathoth-gods-no-longer.html)."_

_In this chapter a new species is introduced—the shilkas. There's a pin of what they look like on the Pinterest board. They join chittaks as animals friendly to humans and their allies. You can read about all the creatures in Arkham Files in my blog post, "[Arkham Files Bestiary](http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/01/arkham-files-bestiary.html)." The alien races are described in "[Alien Worlds and Races in Arkham Files](http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2017/06/alien-worlds-and-races-in-arkham-files.html)." The posts have been updated through this chapter._

_Next week's chapter is set entirely on Merope as Peter and Phineas arrive at the fortress of H'nir and attempt to rescue Neal. Shilkas will also play a role._

_Thanks for reading and your comments!_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[www.pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_


	5. H'nir

**On Merope**

The terrain became more mountainous as Peter and Phineas approached their destination. The suns were now directly overhead although Peter only caught rare glimpses of them through the thick foliage. His shirt was drenched with sweat.

Phineas wasn't even breathing heavily. He maintained a pace which tested Peter's endurance.

The rainforest reminded Peter of the New Guinea highlands. He'd made several field trips there for his doctorate. New Guinea was home to some of the earliest indicators of human settlement. And now he was on the outskirts of H'nir—what was once Merope's largest city. For a brief moment his inner archaeologist took precedence, demanding he take notes. Peter quickly shut him down. This was no scientific expedition. This was a rescue mission.

The monkey calls and bird songs ceased as they approached the ruins. A pregnant stillness hung thick in the moisture-laden atmosphere.

When a low roar rumbled in the distance, Phineas paused to listen, his expression grim. "Sornoth's grown restless."

Peter mopped his brow with his already ruined necktie. "You came here to rescue Thaddeus. How were you able to creep inside without the ghasts spotting you?"

"I had help," Phineas said, clipping his words. "This time will be no different."

Peter had noticed that during the morning trek Phineas's mannerisms gradually underwent a transformation. Gone was the mocking sarcasm. He'd become grave and taciturn. The dark timbre to his voice reminded Peter of someone he knew. The identity stayed on the fringe of his memory, refusing to reveal itself.

_"Peter . . . Stay away."_

He staggered backwards, shocked. "Neal? Is that you?" Peter tripped on a tree root and would have fallen if Phineas hadn't grabbed him.

"Did you hear something?" Phineas demanded.

Breathing heavily, Peter ignored his guide and concentrated his thoughts. _Neal! Can you hear me?_ He waited anxiously for a long moment. There was no response. The vision was gone.

Phineas seized his arm. "Tell me what you saw."

"Neal was inside my head. It was just for an instant. I heard his voice calling out to me. But it wasn't him I saw. It was the head of a massive cat—grizzled fur, massive saber-toothed jaw  . . ." Peter swallowed. "Neal told me to stay away. He was trying to warn me."

"Sornoth." Phineas's face had grown even more somber. "Neal must have projected his thoughts to you. Has he ever done that before?"

"Never. He's able to do that?"

A scurrying in the ferns undergrowth interrupted them before Phineas could reply. A tiny animal with golden-brown fur peered out from behind a fern frond and darted up Phineas's leg onto his jacket. It nuzzled his neck and gave a brief squeak.

Phineas spoke not a word but his eyes bored into the creature's face. The body was only about four inches long, with a tail longer than its body. Peter was familiar with lemurs from Madagascar and this resembled a mouse lemur.

"Ghasts are active close to the entrance," Phineas said at last, breaking the silence. "We must wait till they've left the area."

"Neal needs us now! We can't afford to wait."

Phineas turned to face him. "It does Neal no good if we're captured." As Peter started to argue, he cut him off. "Our chance will come. Neal is strong in ways you don't yet comprehend. He wouldn't have been able to reach out to you otherwise. This shilka is one of many. They'll be our guides. A member of his family will alert us when it's safe to enter."

Phineas sat down on a bed of ferns and urged Peter to do the same. "Rest while you can. The most dangerous part of the journey lies ahead." Phineas opened his knapsack to pull out flasks of water and more blue apples. The shilka appeared quite content to remain on his shoulder.

Peter reluctantly sat down beside him. On a rational level, he understood Phineas was right, but he continued to be haunted by the image of Sornoth in his head. With an effort he focused on the new animal they'd just encountered. He wrapped his tongue around the unfamiliar word to retain it in his memory. "Do _shilkas_ dwell in the ruins?"

He nodded. "And this entire region. There are large colonies within the city. They're so small that Sornoth ignores them. The Ymar have never taken the trouble to learn about them and that works to our advantage."

"You can read their thoughts?"

"And they mine. Many of the species on our planet are telepaths."

"You were the one inside my head in the crypt!" Peter exclaimed as awareness dawned. "You told me to use Neal's amulet on the disk in the crypt, knowing it would seal the wormhole."

He nodded. "I'd planned to tell you. Lavinia and I were going to take advantage of my visit to Arkham to let you know about us and Merope."

"And you're reading my thoughts now." Had Phineas been eavesdropping on him all along?

"No," Phineas said quickly. "Our directive prevents us from entering minds uninvited unless the circumstances are sufficiently urgent to warrant it."

"But you just answered my unspoken question!" Peter protested.

"That was different. I didn't enter your mind. You communicated it to me although you weren't aware of what you were doing. During periods of high stress you're able to send me your thoughts. It's one of the benefits of algolnium. But you need to be trained to know how to use it correctly. As it is, I occasionally receive a random blast of high energy. It can be quite disconcerting. That's what happened to me on the night you were in the mausoleum. You experienced the same sensation when you heard Neal."

"I don't understand," Peter said. "My stress then can't compare to what Neal is feeling now. Why can't you sense him?"

"I didn't say I couldn't sense him at all," Phineas said mildly. "But Neal's situation is different than yours."

Can you enter everyone's mind? Can you see into Neal's mind?"

He hesitated for a moment. "I used to, but no longer. Algolnium is a tricky substance. It enables us to establish a connection, but if it's sufficiently strong it also acts as a barricade. Neal would have to consciously allow me to read his thoughts. It's a technique that requires training."

"Was Lavinia the one who gave me algolnium? Was it in the emerald wine?"

He smiled. "Now you're catching on." For a moment he sounded like the Phineas of old.

Before Peter could respond, another shilka darted out from behind a tree. Phineas held out a hand and it scrabbled up to nestle in the crook of his elbow. Peter could tell by Phineas's eye movements that he was communicating with one or both of the shilkas. After a minute, he turned to Peter. "The ghasts have left. We must leave now."

They quickly packed away the water. Peter broke the remaining slice of his apple into two and offered the pieces to the shilkas. They accepted them eagerly and devoured them with surprising speed for animals so small.

"Is Sornoth a telepath too?" Peter asked as he stood up.

"He has many abilities. I suspect that's one of them. When I questioned Thaddeus about it, his thoughts were too muddled to give me a coherent answer. I fear his mind was indeed probed."

Would algolnium protect Neal from a similar fate or was Sornoth too powerful to resist? Peter knew Phineas must be haunted by the same question.

The shilkas guided them up a steep slope to a stone wall a few yards away. To Peter's eyes it looked solid, but Phineas felt along the surface, muttering strange words in an unknown tongue. He pressed around the edges of the blocks until apparently he found what he was looking for. Nodding with satisfaction, he tapped a complex pattern with his fingers as if he were typing on a keyboard. Slowly part of the wall slid aside to reveal a small entrance. Was this magic or yet another Meropian ability? Whatever it was, Peter was glad Phineas was on his side.

Phineas put a finger to his lips. "Within the fortress we must be as silent as possible." He retrieved from his knapsack the small light orb he'd used at camp. Attaching it to a cord, he slipped it around his neck. "This is for emergency use only. You'll need to tread carefully but darkness is our ally. Now, quickly!"

Taking the lead, he plunged into the darkness of the ruined fortress.

The air was cooler inside but thick with a pervasive smell Peter associated with mushrooms and decay. It evoked memories of ancient Mayan ruins. From all directions, he heard the soft drip of water. He hoped the faint rustles which accompanied his steps were the shilkas. It was too dark to see them.

Peter crept cautiously forward, feeling his way around broken pieces of masonry lying on the ground. Phineas was more surefooted or perhaps his night vision was better. He never appeared to trip. He could have probably gone much faster if Peter hadn't been present.

Their route was a maze of corridors with twists and turns beyond Peter's ability to remember. He would have quickly become hopelessly lost without his guides. As they made their way deeper into the ruins, the ground became littered with bones. Some of them resembled pelvic bones and femurs. When he stumbled over one, Phineas steadied him, whispering, "Ghast. They prey on each other."

An occasional painfully low rumble signaled Sornoth's presence somewhere in the ruins. The shilkas had communicated that he was no longer with Neal. For how long the respite would last no one could predict.

The stone walls were covered in slime which cast off a faint green iridescence. As Peter's eyes adjusted to the dim conditions, he was gradually able to make out more details, but it was a shadow world in shades of gunmetal gray. Occasionally they passed openings into chambers or side passages, but in the low light Peter couldn't distinguish what lay beyond their dark openings.

They cautiously descended crumbling staircases as they worked their way into underground passageways. Stealth was their only protection.

In a narrow corridor, Phineas stopped him with a hand on his arm. He gestured with a finger toward a dark opening in the wall. The shilkas scampered inside, disappearing into the blackness.

Phineas followed and Peter groped his way after him, keeping a cautious hand on the wall.

After a few paces, Phineas turned on his light orb at a low setting. Even in the dim conditions Peter recognized the shape collapsed on the floor.

They'd found Neal. But was he still alive?

The shilkas appeared to think so. Peter counted six of them, all industriously licking Neal. One was working on a gash on his forehead. Two others appeared to be cleaning a pair of deep incisions in his side while others applied themselves to a bruised area of his lower chest where there was a jagged hole in his shirt. Neal was unresponsive to their actions. 

"Don't interfere!" Phineas whispered in an urgent undertone. "Shilka saliva contains healing properties and acts as an anesthetic."

Peter crouched down and pressed his fingers onto Neal's neck for a pulse. Faint but steady. They still had a chance.

He whipped out his knife and cut the ropes binding Neal's wrists and ankles while Phineas opened his knapsack. Those medical supplies he'd brought along would be essential.

The wound on Neal's head had crusted over and was no longer bleeding. He had four deep puncture wounds to his left side. The image of Sornoth's fangs flashed in front of Peter. By the extent of blood on the floor of the cell, the attack had occurred a while ago. Peter suspected a ghast hoof had struck Neal in the upper stomach. The skin wasn't broken but was swollen and hard to the touch. Probable internal bleeding from the stomach or nearby organs.

Phineas applied pressure packs to the wounds on Neal's side. He then placed the fingers of his right hand onto Neal's temple and closed his eyes. Peter had seen that technique before. Lavinia had used it on Neal after he'd been transported to the Plateau of Leng. At the time Peter suspected she was probing his mind to discover what the priest had done to him. Apparently Phineas was doing the same.

After several moments Phineas withdrew his fingers and opened his eyes. Shaking his head, he admitted failure. "I'd thought because of his weakened condition, I might be able to read his thoughts, but he continues to block my attempts."

"He's bleeding internally. Is there anything you can do to help?"

"I can only alleviate the pain."

Peter was reminded of battlefield triage except that here emergency care was being provided by an alien ornithologist and the nurses were lemur-like shilkas. Neal remained unconscious. His forehead was hot to the touch. The shilkas might be deadening the pain, but Neal needed a hospital and that was light-years away.

Phineas reached inside his knapsack for a pouch and extracted a pinch of a rose-colored herb. "This will revive him. Once he's conscious, I can give him a painkiller. We'll make faster progress if we don't have to carry him."

More unknown meds. Peter could hear El's voice in his head, protesting angrily the damage they might cause to Neal's system. "Is this the same medication you gave me?"

"No. That's not strong enough for the injuries Neal has."

"If he attempts to walk, it could cause even greater damage. Shouldn't we make a litter instead?"

"With what? Do you see any materials we could use?" Phineas sat back on his heels to lock his eyes on Peter. "We have no choice. For Neal to recover, we must reach the wormhole. It's already afternoon. Come twilight, the ghasts will be upon us. Neal will be back with Sornoth, wishing for death as an escape. We _must not_ allow that to happen. For Neal's sake, for your sake, we must move with all speed." He pried Neal's mouth open and slipped the herb inside.

"Are there any side effects to the drugs you're using?"

Phineas exhaled. "Probably, but I don't know what they are for a human. The medications I brought were prepared by Lavinia who has the greatest knowledge of your species. But the drugs were intended for Meropians. They will erect a wall which will prevent Neal from sensing pain. Among our people, some experience dizziness or a euphoria you might associate with being drunk." He gave a half-smile. "Isn't that better than to be rendered incapable of movement because the pain is too severe?"

Peter waited anxiously for it to take effect. He realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to calm down. He thought of the long trek through the forest they'd just made. They'd have no choice but carry Neal, once they'd left the ruins. If they could get that far . . . "Is the wormhole close?"

"Don't worry, we won't have to walk to get there."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal awoke with a snap. Where was he? His last memory was of Sornoth crouched beside him. Was that a nightmare? He could still feel the shilkas licking him. He reached out to stroke one.

A hand stopped him. "Neal, can you hear me? It's Peter."

 He opened his eyes. Swimming over his head was Peter's face smiling down anxiously at him.

Neal gasped with relief. Maybe it had all been a dream. He was back at their camp. He'd fallen asleep while they were stargazing . . . An instant later he gave himself a mental kick. Don't be an idiot. _The shilkas are still there. Use your brain._ "Tried to warn you . . ."

"I heard you. You didn't think I'd leave you with that leopard, did you?" The worry lines were still on his face, but Neal felt surprisingly good.

"They said you'd come. I shouldn't have doubted them."

"Who told you?"

"Small animals. They look like lemurs."

"We call them shilkas," another voice said. Neal turned his head to see Phineas. He looked just like he remembered him at Oxford. Even the same clothes.

Neal smiled at the sight of him. The shilkas had been right. "I know. Have you been here long?" Peter was looking at him, puzzled. "The shilkas," Neal explained. "They've been giving me reports, but I thought I was dreaming. Did you see Sornoth?" He remembered the leopard's attack, but he couldn't feel anything. Then again he hadn't tried to move. Something told him that would be a very bad idea.

Peter looked haggard. "Are you injured?" Neal asked. He caught a glimpse of a bandage under Peter's shirt.

"We'll talk later," Phineas said. "Not here. Sornoth may return." He pulled out a small gourd from his knapsack and poured a dark liquid into the cap of the gourd. "Drink this. It will help."

Neal hesitated. Peter wasn't objecting. _Never question your rescuers_. He started to reach for the cap and immediately stopped as his side erupted into a pain so severe, it blinded him to anything else. He bit down hard on his lip, trying not to cry out, as he rode out the pain. They'd have to leave him behind. He couldn't move like this. For a second Neal despaired.

Phineas held the cap to his lips. "Drink," he urged. The shilkas scampered over his chest, licking him frantically. Neal swished the liquid in his mouth before swallowing. It looked like molasses, but luckily didn't smell like it. Mushrooms maybe. He closed his eyes. Already he could feel the effects. Was it the liquid or the shilkas? Were they magical like Cinderella's mice? They communicated telepathically. Close enough to magic. The liquid must be made from magical mushrooms. How could it work so fast?

No time for rest. Phineas was already impressing on him the need for speed. Neal braced his hands gingerly against the ground to stand up and felt no discomfort. Peter and Phineas were putting their arms around him to help him up. He tried to fend them off. He could manage without assistance. His injuries must be minor.

Or not.

When Neal attempted to put weight on his legs, they prompted buckled beneath him. He would have collapsed on the floor without their support. He looked to Peter. "Why won't they work?"

Peter mumbled something about the liquid and said not to worry. That was hard to do with Peter looking like Neal was about to die. He felt fine. Okay, a little wobbly, but that'd quickly wear off—

Phineas grasped him by the shoulders, forcing him to pay attention. "We have a distance to travel within the ruins before we can escape." He was speaking in slow motion. Why? There was nothing wrong with Neal's hearing. "Ghasts are about. _No talking_. Do you understand?"

"I haven't been—" Neal objected, intending to protest further till he saw Peter shake his head at him. He'd been thinking. Not talking. There's a difference. Only the shilkas could have heard him. Was Phineas a shilka? Why did he think Neal had been talking? And why was Peter biting his lip to keep from laughing? Were they telling jokes and not letting him in on them? Neal could use a joke right now.

They hustled him out of the cell before he had a chance to explain. Why were they holding onto him so tightly? It wasn't like he was going to skip off to visit Sornoth. What would Betelgeuse think of Sornoth? Not much, probably. He'd be more fascinated by the shilkas. He'd have to—

"Neal!" Peter whispered urgently in his ear. " _Shhhhush!_ "

Most of the shilkas had scampered back into the crevices. Two of them darted ahead and were staying a little in front of Phineas. They must be their guides since they lived within the ruins. He turned to Peter to whisper very quietly what he knew about them when Phineas shoved a hand over his mouth.

"Where are we going?" Neal mumbled through Phineas's hand.

"Home," Peter whispered. "We're going _home_. Now quiet!"

How were they going home? Did they find another wormhole? Before Neal could ask, Phineas leaned him against the wall and gestured for Peter to stop.

Phineas opened his knapsack and rummaged among the contents. Neal had no problem viewing what he was doing even though he'd turned off the light gizmo around his neck. The greenish slime on the walls reminded him of the staircase in the mausoleum. Did all underground staircases have green slime? The one at Abydos had.

Phineas unceremoniously shoved a pinch of some powder into Neal's mouth. Didn't even ask first. Not very polite. But before Neal could complain, his brain stuttered and stalled. Thoughts blurred . . .

He had a dreamlike impression of being hustled down endless narrow corridors lined with fallen stones and mortar. He had no concept of time. He'd wake up to find they were still slinking through what looked to be the same passageways. He wondered vaguely why there weren't any ghasts. Were they too large to fit? But nothing seemed very important . . .

Neal awoke to more of the syrupy liquid being poured into his mouth. They were holding him upright against a stone wall. The liquid cleared his head and he became more aware of his surroundings. As soon as Phineas saw his eyes open, they were on the move once more.

They wouldn't let him ask questions, so Neal didn't bother. He felt hollow inside. One big empty glop. Peter snorted. Why? He hadn't said that aloud. Was Peter reading his mind?

" _Shhh_ ," Peter whispered in his ear.

Again with the shushes. Neal tried to focus on what they were doing, but it made his brain hurt. The world was black. Black as a blackbird. He began to hum—softly—in his head.

Abruptly Phineas shoved him against the wall and clamped a hand over his mouth. What were they waiting for? Phineas had said they needed to hurry. Neal listened to the drip, drip of water coming from the stones above them. His head slid down till it found something to rest on. Peter had sandwiched his shoulder underneath and Neal settled in gratefully. He was so tired . . .

Then he heard them. The rapid thuds of marching hooves. They were directly overhead. The din reverberated in the narrow corridor. Ghasts. There must be an entire battalion. Neal had that sound forever branded into his memory from the previous night.

Were they searching for them? Had Sornoth discovered he was missing?

They waited several long minutes. Slowly the thuds faded away.

As soon as it was quiet, Phineas urged them forward. "The final push. We're almost there."

Neal had no idea how long that final push was. He could see his feet move but he couldn't feel them. His world was reduced to the arms around him which kept him upright.

His eyes jerked open when they suddenly halted. They'd come to an apparent dead-end. In front of them was a solid stone wall. Neal felt Peter's rough breathing on his neck. Was this the end?

Phineas didn't think so. Giving them a broad smile, he guided Neal and Peter back against the wall then crouched on the floor. His fingers traced the edges of the stone slabs. He began tapping the floor with both hands like it was a keyboard.

Silently a panel slid back to reveal a dark cavity. Rough steps descended from the opening to the blackness below.

Phineas turned to them. "This, my friends, is our escape from H'nir—our rabbit hole!"

Stooping, Phineas stroked the two shilkas who'd been guiding them.

One of them scampered up Neal's leg onto his chest. _Safe travels!_ An image of a waterfall flashed in his mind.

The shilka darted off before Neal had a chance to thank him. Would he ever see shilkas again? He hoped so.

Phineas and Peter inched Neal down the steps. Once they were beyond the entrance, Phineas sealed the opening by tapping on a bronze-colored plate on the wall. He turned on the light hanging from his neck, but it only brightened their immediate proximity.

Gradually the air became less oppressive. It had a faint fragrance, totally unlike the fetid atmosphere of the upper levels. As he breathed it in, Neal felt a little refreshed despite the heat. Weren't caverns supposed to be cool? This one was a furnace. It was odd because Peter's arm felt cool. Why wasn't he hot too?

After about twenty paces, Phineas stopped. "Ahead lies a trap for any ghasts who might find their way down here." He took the light—Peter called it a light orb—off his neck and held it at arm's length as he crept forward. A jagged chasm had created a cavernous pit in the stairs. Only a narrow border a little over a foot wide was on each side. Without the light, they would have fallen within to whatever lay beyond. Death most likely.

"We'll need to hug the wall till we're past it." Phineas's eyes bored into him. "You must try to stay upright. I'll go first. If you feel weak, lean on me as you descend. Can you do it?"

Neal nodded, his head feeling clearer than it had for a long time. The rough stone surface of the wall provided chinks which normally would have been sufficient to cling to without an issue. Phineas got in front, faced the wall, then wrapped his right arm around Neal's chest while Peter held onto the other side.

Peter's hand was directly over the wounds on his side, but Neal welcomed the pain. It made him more alert. Slowly they slid past the pit. Neal felt his body begin to shake when he attempted to flatten himself against the stones. Peter and Phineas provided constant encouragement. No longer any need to keep quiet . . .

When at last they were past, Neal longed to collapse, but Phineas wouldn't let him. "We're almost there. Soon you'll be able to rest. Just a few more steps."

Neal closed his eyes and nodded, zoning out for a while.

An exclamation roused him. It was Peter's voice. He opened his eyes and blinked at the unaccustomed brightness. They were no longer in an artificial tunnel but standing on a ledge near the top of an immense cavern with long stalactites coming down from the roof. A track consisting of bamboo-like poles was suspended from the ceiling and descended far below to the floor of the cave. The stalactites glittered with an inner radiance as if they were lanterns.

"This cavern was used as an evacuation route by my people," Phineas explained. He helped Peter ease Neal onto a rocky outcrop which could serve as a bench of sorts.

Phineas then approached a far wall. As he drew close to the surface, his orb illuminated a bronze disk which reminded Neal of the disk they'd found in the crypt at Swan Hill Cemetery. He began to tap rapidly with four fingers onto the center of the disk.

"Can you help me?" Neal whispered in Peter's ear. "I need to see that."

"You and me both," Peter murmured back. The disk had been affixed to the stone surface of the cavern at a height of about five feet off the ground. When they approached, Phineas held up the orb close to the disk. A band of writing circled the border. It was a style unlike that on the disk in the crypt.

"I've seen this script among Laban Shrewsbury's materials," Neal said. Strange how his words sounded to him. Distant and remote, like they came from someone else. "Is this Meropian?"

Phineas nodded. "Can you read it?"

Neal shook his head and swayed against Peter. The temporary burst of strength he'd managed to draw upon to see the disk had evaporated in a _poof_. He had nothing left.

Peter made a grab for him, gripping his side where Sornoth had bitten him. He felt a dull burn but nothing else. His eyes closing, he heard rapid footsteps. Phineas slung an arm under his shoulders and helped ease him to the ground.

Peter crouched next to him, and Neal sagged against his chest. With an effort he focused on Phineas kneeling in front. When Phineas placed two fingers on his temple. Neal wondered vaguely if he was trying to communicate with him. 

Phineas held his fingers in place for a long time. It didn't hurt but why did he look so grim? Neal was just tired. A little rest and he'd be able to continue.

Withdrawing his fingers, Phineas didn't comment on what, if anything, he'd learned. "The Celaenians helped construct the technology. We'd constructed gondolas to ferry cargo during those dark times of the evacuation. The last time I used it was to transport Thaddeus."

For a few minutes the only sound was of them breathing and the occasional drip of water. Neal was on the point of falling asleep when he heard a steady low thrum of something moving. He opened his eyes but didn't see anything.

Phineas bounded up and raced over to the tracks. "The system still works!" he exclaimed. "Our transport arrives!"

Neal held his breath as a gondola slowly ascended into view. The sleek craft was the length of a canoe. There were two benches. The prow was carved into the shape of a bird's head. It appeared thin, light, and smooth as aluminum. The gondola was suspended from a living cable—a vine with the toughness of a tree branch and covered with reddish fronds. It came to a halt at a height of about two feet off the ground.

Phineas jumped inside. He ran his hand along the cable, murmuring something in a birdlike chirp to himself. When he noticed Neal watching him, he smiled cheerfully. "It was built to last. It's quite safe."

Leaping out of the gondola in one bound, he darted back to them. Neal had no strength left to help, but they appeared to understand. Phineas placed his arms around Neal and lifted up his torso while directing Peter to lift his feet.

If Neal weren't so exhausted, he'd be embarrassed to be hoisted like a sack of potatoes onto the floor of the boat. They tried to be gentle. The inside of the gondola was heavily padded and Neal relaxed into it gratefully. His questions about the construction would have to wait. The jostling he'd sustained made him realize he wasn't hollow after all. The sweat running off his face irritated his eyes. The heat was becoming unbearable.

"The medication's wearing off," Phineas murmured to Peter.

"Can you give him another dose?"

He nodded and removed the flask from his knapsack. Neal watched as he drained it to the last drop and held the cap to his mouth. "I'm afraid this will have to suffice. In any case, you cannot tolerate more."

Peter crouched beside him. Pouring water over a cloth Phineas had given him, he used it to wipe Neal's face. The cloth felt like it had been dipped in ice water. Whether it was the medicine or the water, Neal didn't care. He was once more numb.

Phineas stood up and tapped a complex code on a small bronze panel mounted on the cavern wall next to the gondola. Gently, almost imperceptibly the craft began to descend but within a minute had accelerated to a speed Neal wouldn't have dreamed possible. What energy was driving it?

When Peter asked Phineas about it, the Meropian replied, "You wouldn't understand." He sounded just like Lavinia. 

"Rest now," Phineas ordered, clasping Neal's shoulder. "This craft will take us to the wormhole and safety."

 

* * *

_Notes: Klaus Mansfeld is one grumpy leopard after reading about Sornoth. In the virtual reality he and his brother Rolf created for Neal in Nocturne in Black and Gold, Klaus rescued Neal from prison. On Merope Peter usurped that role. In the virtual reality scenario, Neal was badly wounded during the escape. As to what happens on Merope, that comes next week in Chapter 6: Bridge of Warblers. We'll also catch up with El, Sara, and Mozzie in Arkham. I wrote about Klaus for our blog this week: "[Messages to Azathoth: A Leashed Leopard](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2018/01/messages-to-azathoth-leashed-leopard.html)."_

_If you're wounded, shilkas are powerful friends to have around. I'd read that human saliva contains a natural painkiller which is up to 6 times stronger than morphine. The Meropians haven't disclosed how shilka saliva rates._

_There are pins of the cavern at H'nir on the Cinereous Skies Pinterest board. Diana added a comment on the choice of the song "Blackbird."_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[www.pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_


	6. Bridge of Warblers

**On the Planet Merope**

From his position on the bottom of the gondola, Neal watched the walls of the cavern whiz past them. Their craft rocketed along its track ever downward. He wished he had the strength to sit up for a better view. Peter was crouched behind him, gripping his shoulders to prevent him from sliding around.

The liquid Phineas had given him kept the pain at bay. From the way Peter watched him, Neal gathered he wasn't in good shape, but it didn't seem very important. Phineas had checked his bandages and he wasn't bleeding out. That would have to suffice. Neal felt more clearheaded than before. Perhaps he'd grown accustomed to the drug. The gondola padding reminded Neal of tight foam rubber. Compared to the stone floor of his cell, it felt like a down comforter.

Bats occasionally flew by. Unlike those on Earth, these were gaudy in hues of coral and vermilion. Birds had built their nests on ledges in the walls. He saw no adults but there were babies in abundance. Their huge eyes peered out inquisitively at them. Stalactites glimmered in the obscurity of the cavern.

Phineas maintained a steady stream of chatter, telling Neal what had transpired while he was held prisoner. Peter supplemented the account and explained what he'd learned about Meropian history. They kept mentioning his name as if they were trying to include him in the conversation. That was a non-starter. Simply to breathe was a laborious effort.

Peter asked about what they'd find on the floor of the cavern. Several times he called out to Neal for his opinion. Once or twice Neal thought about answering. He supposed he was being rude and hoped Peter would understand.

"Is the wormhole in the cavern?" Peter asked.

Phineas shook his head. "This is a wormhole unlike any you've previously encountered. It was made by the Celaenians and is a permanent portal."

"Surely not positioned to Earth?"

"Of course not. It requires proper configuration."

Neal zoned out the rest of his words. Mozzie should have been here. He would have understood.

"Hey, Neal, it looks like there's a lake below us," Peter said.

"It's actually a river. Once we reach bottom, we'll be able to disengage the gondola to follow it out of the cavern. We'll travel by water for the last leg of the journey."

"How long will that last?" Peter asked.

"We must reach the waterfall before twilight. There are oars in the boat. Neal, has Peter ever paddled a canoe?"

Why was Phineas asking him? Peter was right there. Neal's eyes closed as he listened to Peter's answer. He wished he could . . . Off in the distance someone called his name . . .

When he awoke, they were no longer in the cavern. Phineas was sitting in the stern, guiding the gondola with an oar, while Peter paddled in the aft position. Phineas had gripped Neal's feet between his ankles to keep them from moving. Peter was wedged between Neal and the side of the boat.

The river sliced through a steep gorge of forested mountains. Sunlight was fading. They'd said something about the need for speed, but Neal was fuzzy about what . . .

"How much further to the waterfall?" The urgency in Peter's voice roused Neal from his numbness. Peter's breathing was rapid and labored. Neal wished he could see him, but he was paddling behind him and Neal didn't have the strength to turn his head. He should offer to help . . .

When he came to, Phineas was speaking, his words clipped together. Short. Tense. They didn't sound like him. Had something happened? He and Peter were paddling with rapid jerks which made the gondola lunge forward in the water. Neal lurched to the side of the boat, crying out when his side came in contact with the craft.

"Neal, you awake?" Peter called out. "Stay with us. We need you alert."

"Why?" he mumbled. He was already drifting back.

"Ghasts!" Phineas hissed.

"Where?" Neal demanded, startled into full consciousness.

"On the riverbank. They're only a short way behind. We're trying to outrace them. Faster, Peter!"

The gondola lurched forward with every stroke of the oars. Phineas was unable to keep Neal's feet pinned and he rolled helplessly from side to side, unable to stop himself.

"Try to hold onto my legs," Peter shouted.

"We have to lose them!" Phineas yelled. "They're gaining on us!" He spared a quick glance backward at Neal. "If they follow us to the wormhole . . ."

"Is there another route?"

"One. A side tributary. It will be painful, but it's our only shot."

"Do it," Neal mumbled. He couldn't take the beating for much longer. How much worse could it be?

"Dig deep, Peter! One more burst!"

Phineas guided the craft close to the bank. Their speed decreased. Neal was jolted back and forth. His head was spinning, the urge to heave irresistible.

They slammed into a boulder. He heard someone scream. Was that him? It didn't sound like his voice.

With a sudden swerve Phineas made a sharp right which sent them down some sort of chute. They were crashing along rocky shallows. Surely their boat would be ripped apart. The angle was too steep to do anything but guide it along. A sound of roaring. Rapids?

"Hold on!" Phineas yelled.

Without warning Neal was flung high up in the air. Peter cursed and made a lunge for him. Neal crashed hard onto the deck.

. . .

"Neal, can you hear me?"

He really needed to get another name. He was so tired of hearing his own. Muzzily he ran his tongue over the dry powder in his mouth. It had a fragrance he could taste.

He knew those voices. Peter and Phineas. Neal congratulated himself for recognizing them. That was enough of an accomplishment. If they'd only stop talking, he could rest. He was lying on ferns. Soft, comfortable. Not in a boat. Not in the rapids.

"He's not reviving. Isn't there anything else you can give him?" Peter's voice sounded oddly desperate. What had gone wrong?

"His injuries are too severe. I'm afraid he's past any help I can provide."

"I thought he'd died in the boat." Peter's voice was rough and jarring. Neal just wanted to sleep.

"We'll have to carry him to the waterfall. Then I'll lash him to you. But I must warn you, if he dies in the wormhole, nothing can help him. It could be safer for you to go back on your own. What happened to Thaddeus may not happen to you."

"No! We go back together or not at all."

That wasn't right. Peter shouldn't sacrifice himself. " _Go on, Peter. I'll be fine."_

"Neal!" Peter demanded. "Are you awake?"

"Are you sure you heard something?" Phineas asked.

Someone shook his shoulder. "Neal, open your eyes!"

Neal struggled to comply and suddenly it wasn't so difficult. He blinked up at Peter's anxious face.

Peter exhaled sharply. His breath was cool on Neal's face. "That's better. Keep those eyes open."

Phineas probed his right temple. His fingers reminded Neal of popsicles. Refreshingly cold. "The herb's working. Must take longer on humans. Quick, we only have a few minutes."

He slid an arm under Neal as Peter supported his other side and hoisted him to his feet. "Ghasts?" Neal mumbled.

"We lost them," Peter said, "and almost you."

A wall of water lay straight ahead, a distance of a few yards. "Is that the wormhole?"

Phineas nodded. "You need to approach it from behind. You'll have just enough room to squeeze through between the rock wall and the waterfall."

"You're coming with us?" Neal asked.

"No, but I'll see you soon."

They half-dragged, half-carried him through the shallow water. Neal had lost all feeling in his legs. He could have so easily drifted off again but they wouldn't let him.

When they were behind the waterfall, Phineas took Neal's full weight and directed Peter to stand facing the rock wall. Despite his drowsiness, Neal was now too curious to close his eyes. Phineas slowly guided him to cling to Peter's back. He felt like a polar bear flopped onto an iceberg.

"So now you're the polar bear," Peter murmured.

Could Peter read his thoughts or had he said it aloud? Neal couldn't tell. The heat radiating off him would soon melt his iceberg into a puddle.

"Hold on for just a little longer. I'm not gonna melt." Peter bent his knees and used his hand to guide Neal's head till it rested on his shoulder.

Neal looked through half-closed eyes at Phineas who was extracting a thin rope from his knapsack. He used it to tie Neal to Peter under their arms and at their waist.

Phineas tapped his cheek. "Neal, listen to me. You must stay awake. Hold onto Peter as best you can." He studied Neal for a moment then guided Neal's hands in front of Peter and tied them together. Peter grabbed onto them with a reassuring grip.

Phineas then took a small antique device out of his pocket and twirled some of the dials.

"When you step toward the water, the wormhole will find you. Till our next meeting!"

Phineas half-supported Neal as Peter slowly rotated his position to face the waterfall. Gripping Neal's hands, he trod cautiously forward.

The water drenched Neal, quenching his fire. The spray was so hard it was impossible to keep his eyes open.

_Whoosh!_

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El wasn't scheduled to work on Saturday afternoon, but she went to the medical center anyway. Waiting at home wasn't helping anyone. In hindsight, that might have been a mistake. Vijay was there as well. Every time she looked at him, the image of Lavinia transforming into her assistant flashed in front of her eyes. El found herself staring at him to see if he would change back to Lavinia. Poor Vijay. He kept asking her if he'd done anything wrong.

She'd invited everyone to her house for dinner. June insisted on bringing the food, claiming she needed to have something to do. She'd made two of Neal's favorite dishes—shrimp Creole and brandy Alexander pie—as well as stuffed mushrooms and marinated vegetables. It was a feast designed for at least twice as many people as the number gathered around El's dining room table. El knew June hoped that Neal and Peter would be there to share it with them.

But that was not to be. Lavinia didn't call and it was a quiet meal. Mozzie tried to boost their spirits by making up stories about the friendly aliens Peter and Neal were encountering, but she was too distracted to pay him much heed.

Diana called a few times, apparently with the sole purpose of checking up on them. The last time had been at eight o'clock. Everyone was in a holding pattern. El had brought home sleeping pills for the group, but doubted anyone would take them. It would be another long night of waiting.

After helping to clean up the kitchen, Mozzie and Sara left to take Satchmo on a walk. El made tea for herself and June.

When the phone rang, El was carrying the mugs into the living room. The hot liquid sloshed onto her hands as she froze in place.  June jumped up to take the mugs from her.

"Probably just Diana asking about us," El said, steeling herself for yet another disappointment. She could do this.

"Hello?" She hoped the quaver in her voice wasn't noticeable on the phone.

Diana's triumphant voice blasted all those thoughts aside. "We found them!" 

The tears started to run down El's cheeks as she gave an ecstatic thumbs-up to June.

"How are they?" June demanded as soon as Diana rang off.

"Both are unconscious. There are bloodstains on their clothes but no apparent injuries. Diana believes they may have been drugged. A patrol car found them on Whittier Street off Trinity Avenue. They'd been lashed together. She suspects members of the Starry Wisdom cult abducted them as retribution. They're being taken to the medical center."

June dumped out the tea in the kitchen. Luckily Sara and Mozzie returned before they were ready to leave. El took the time to make one brief call to Lavinia before heading for the hospital. When Lavinia announced she'd meet them there, El had mixed feelings. Yes, Lavinia was probably better equipped than anyone else to diagnose their condition. But for a medical professional to have to admit that a space alien was more qualified was a bitter pill to swallow.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Three hectic hours later, El was once more in waiting mode with one huge difference. This time Peter was beside her. She'd moved him to a private room at the conclusion of the preliminary tests. Neal was in another room at the end of the hall, the closest one available. Both were still unconscious.

Initially El had planned to simplify monitoring her patients by placing them in the same room. But she'd reconsidered. It was likely they wouldn't revive at the same time. The sight of the other lying unconscious and hooked up to tubes would increase the inevitable stress the patient would already be experiencing.

June and Mozzie were keeping a vigil at Neal's bedside. Sara's nerves apparently had kicked her energy level into overdrive. She was in constant motion between the two rooms. She'd already supplied drinks, snacks, and magazines—not that anyone felt like reading. She'd stop long enough to offer a few words of encouragement before bouncing up to check on the other patient.

Diana had gone home after meeting El in the hospital. El didn't attempt to dissuade her from her theory of cult retaliation. It was much more palatable than saying they'd been abducted to an alien planet.

Lavinia had arrived a few minutes after El and had consulted with her in the emergency ward. After jabbing her fingers against Peter's left temple, she pronounced herself satisfied and assured her that Peter would wake up within a few hours.

Neal was more problematic. Lavinia claimed the high levels of algolnium within his system prevented her from accessing his mind. When El questioned her about the whereabouts of Phineas, she said he hadn't returned and she didn't expect him for a couple of days. As to where he was or what he was doing, Lavinia refused to answer. She left after ordering El to keep her informed.

El had run all the tests she could think of—MRI's, scans, and x-rays. She'd ordered exhaustive blood work done on both of them. She could find nothing physically wrong with them aside from being unconscious. Their blood-stained clothes were a puzzle. The blood stains matched their blood types and both men had been bandaged. Peter had one over his right rib cage. Neal had two large pressure packs on his left side and his head had been wrapped in gauze. Neither of them had any trace of a wound. El was forced to conclude that once more they'd been miraculously healed by their journey through the wormhole.

Mozzie argued that this was confirmation of his theory that a ghost image remained behind when they entered a wormhole, but she remained skeptical. And she wasn't convinced that they were uninjured. Thaddeus had displayed similar readings and never regained consciousness.

A mumble roused her from her musings. Peter was stirring.

She took his hand. "Peter, can you hear me?"

His eyes blinked open. "El? Is that really you?" His hand reached up to touch her face.

She leaned forward to kiss him, her eyes blurring with unshed tears. "You're not dreaming. You're back in Arkham." She gave him the brightest smile she could summon. "And don't you ever run off to another planet without me."

He gave her a startled look, as he propped himself up on one elbow. "You know? Did Lavinia tell you?"

She nodded, elevating the bed to make him more comfortable. "She met with us yesterday morning."

His expression suddenly turned anxious. "Neal! Did he make it back too?"

She sat down on the bed next to him. "You were found on Whittier Street. Neal's still unconscious. You just awoke. I'm confident he will too." More of a wish than a belief but this wasn't the time for complete honesty.

"He was badly injured on Merope, the planet we were on. Internal bleeding, puncture wounds—"

She placed a hand to his lips. "He has no physical symptoms, just like you. We were able to tell from the bandages and the condition of your clothes that both of you had been injured, but there's no trace of anything now."

He relaxed and settled back on the pillows. "What day is it?"

"It's early Sunday morning." Peter was feeling no discomfort and was fully awake so she didn't try to get him to sleep. They were deep into exchanging details of what each had experienced by the time Sara arrived. Ecstatic to see Peter revived, she raced off to tell June and Mozzie. Neal was still unconscious, but everyone took Peter's case as an omen it wouldn't be much longer before he too would return to them.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

_Neal let his right hand skim through the water. He smiled at Kate and tightened his left arm around her. She was sitting beside him in the small gondola. The oars lay unused at their feet. They were content to let the river guide them wherever it wished._

_The rainforest was a slow-moving panorama in shades of tourmaline and jade. Kate looked like she could be a water sprite. She was clad in the same sky-blue silk dress she'd worn for their farewell dinner before he left for Oxford._

_She rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish this trip would never end."_

_"It doesn't have to. We can stay on the river. Just you and me. We'll let the world flow around us."_

_Her response was a kiss. He could have lived within that kiss till the end of time._

_Kate pulled back when the gondola rounded a bend in the river. A tributary led off to their right. "Look!" she exclaimed. "It's Arkham."_

_"In the middle of the rainforest? You must be joking."_

_Her laughter sounded like the tinkle of bells. Stroking his cheek with her hand, she nudged his head toward the tributary. "Such a skeptic you are. What do you make of that?"_

_He stared in disbelief. Rising out of the mist were the familiar silhouettes he knew so well. He could make out Derleth Hall with its observatory, the university tower, the Church of St. Jude on Prospect Hill._

_Kate picked up an oar and turned their craft toward Arkham. "Do you see them?"_

_"Who?"_

_"Our friends. They're on the bridge, waving to us. Help me paddle."_

_Neal obediently retrieved the second oar. The bridge was so far away. When had her eyes become sharper than his? Gradually he could make out the figures—Peter, El, Mozzie, June . . . Sara was there, too. As their boat drew close, he realized they were singing. It was one of June's favorite songs, "Bridge Over Troubled Water."_

_Neal laughed and Kate did too. Rising over the voices was Sara singing her heart out about a bridge over troubled warblers._

_"She really is hopeless," Neal said and told her about the other lyrics Sara had muddled._

_"You must go to them. They need you, Sara in particular. For her sake, for the world's sake, you have to teach her the correct words."_

_"You don't mind?"_

_"Of course not. Go to them, Neal."_

_He watched them on the bridge, singing and waving at him. Peter beckoned him to row closer. "You'll come with me, right? . . .  Kate?"_

_When she didn't answer, he turned to look at her._

_She'd vanished._

_"Kate!" He scanned the water frantically. Surely he would have heard a splash if she'd fallen overboard. In his despair he looked up into the sky. A bird soared high above him. Its opalescent blue feathers shimmered in the sun. As it flew off, he heard distant calls. They sounded like his name . . ._

"Neal."

He blinked. In front of him was not Kate, not the river, but June. As his eyes gradually focused, he realized she was crying. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Don't mind those tears. I'm just happy to see you." She hugged him. "Welcome back!"

"Neal, my boy, I expect a full report as soon as you're up to it," Mozzie said, wiping his glasses. "Don't think you can go wandering off to unknown planets and leave us in the dark."

Neal scanned the hospital room. Had he been sick? Had it all been a dream? But they seemed to know about Merope as well.

He lay back on the pillows, trying to piece together his recollections. "Is Peter all right?"

"He woke up before you," Mozzie said. "He's fine. You're fine. And I'm envious."

He attempted to tell them about Kate, the bird, but the words didn't make any sense.

"You must have been dreaming about the lyrics in the song," June said. "The silver bird in the last verse? You turned it into Kate." She clasped his hand. "That was your way of saying goodbye."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sara rounded the corner of the ward, making her final lap. She'd been walking off her excess energy for the past fifteen minutes. It was time to check in. June had urged her to stay away for longer and suggested she look for a book in the gift shop on the ground floor. Sara had tried to find something but gave it up as a lost cause. As if she could possibly take time out to read.

Peter woke up hours ago. Why hadn't Neal? El had tried to reassure her, but what did she know? Upon questioning, she conceded Neal's symptoms were the same as those of Thaddeus. What if he stayed like that for years? Never waking? Sara's stomach took another lurch. She could blame it on the gallons of coffee she'd consumed during the night, but she knew that wasn't the cause.

She'd tried to question Peter on what had happened, but he wanted to hold off on the details till Neal had revived. Was that an attempt to calm her down? It didn't work.

Sara sat down in an empty room reserved for families to quiet her runaway emotions before going back into Neal's room. He was frighteningly pale. He could have been a statue, his breathing barely discernible. If the monitors weren't there with their reassuring beeps, she'd have thought he was— _Stop that!_ She needed to be strong for June and Mozzie. They'd been there all night. June had taken a few naps. Mozzie claimed he never slept at night but conducted thought experiments. And he'd filled up several sheets of paper with diagrams and scribbles.

Sara's stomach gave another lurch. She took a sip from her lukewarm soda to quiet it.

 _Empathy_. That was her problem. Empathy for El and the stress she was under from having her husband on a distant, hostile planet.

 _Empathy_. Who wouldn't be thrown for a loop at having a friend in the hospital? Emphasis on the word _friend_. This was Sara's first time to see a friend hooked up to so many tubes. El said they were the standard number, but all those monitors? That couldn't be routine.

Nurses undoubtedly experienced the same emotions for their patients all the time. It was likely a syndrome. Sara intended to research what the name was at the first opportunity.

 _Empathy_. That's why her heart was doing flip-flops. Neal had _not_ gone from being a pal to someone who could easily sweep her off her feet. Not that her feet were the problem. Her heart never had listened to reason. There it was, willing to give itself to a man who was not in the least interested in her and who was now in a coma.

Sara took a deep breath. Careful analytical thinking would calm overwrought nerves. She'd already outlined her future. Stick to casual relationships while pursuing her career. Romantic entanglements were a distraction. Sara had already experienced enough men to know they all came with baggage and messy breakups.

Neal's fake boyfriend status was just the ticket. They'd been friends for years. No worries about falling for each other.

Then, when she worked overseas at some exotic location, she'd be free to enjoy the occasional dalliance as her career skyrocketed. Emma Peel might have liaisons but she was _always_ in control.

Was it because he was now Neal the enigma? An interplanetary explorer, a man who might have alien blood flowing inside him? Or was it the sight of him lying helpless in bed? Whatever it was, it couldn't be real. It would be so unfair to subject him to her temporary insanity.

It was like she was seeing the world through a movie camera which had one of those weird filters on it. All she needed to do was remove the filter. Once Neal recovered, she'd laugh over the idea of how she could have possibly felt this way.

Neal was going to recover. That's what El said. That's what Peter said. More to the point, that was what Lavinia said. What Sara needed to focus on was what she'd do when he woke up.

She leaped up from the chair and began to pace as she contemplated the disastrous scenario in front of her. If she acted in the least bit smitten, Neal would be confused and dismayed.

Those errant emotions she was feeling were clearly caused by stress. They needed to be buried deep. Although . . . No harm in indulging for just a minute. What would it be like if she really had fallen for Neal? She'd continued to play the part of the friend while reeling him in without him being aware of what she was doing. Stevie Wonder's song, "Signed, Sealed, Delivered," would be her mantra.

Sara reached for a tissue and gave a good blow to her nose. A quick trip to the ladies' room to repair the damage, then back to check on him. Once Neal revived, she'd recognize this for silliness provoked by stress. _Damn it, Neal, wake up._  

Sara paused before opening the door, steeling herself for the sight of him comatose in bed. She needed to be in character. June and Mozzie mustn't suspect anything. Mozzie in particular wouldn't be able to resist telling Neal. Sara could feel her cheeks grow hot at the thought.

Taking a breath, she opened the door. "Neal! You're awake!"

He looked at her with those blue eyes which would melt anyone's heart. Another transitory effect caused by him being asleep for so long. Soon they would appear quite ordinary. _Pull yourself together. Don't blow it._ He had a smile on his face, but it looked a little tenuous.

"It's about time," she joked, striding toward his bed. "Do you know how long you've been keeping us waiting? I don't want to hear any complaints on how late I am ever again."

Neal's smile broadened under the barrage of her banter, while June and Mozzie filled her in on what she'd missed. He'd only been awake for a few minutes. She was proud of herself. Even though she stood right next to him, she played the part of a pal superbly well. She brushed his hair off his forehead, but _casually_ , like anyone might do.

June had called El, but she was in the midst of finishing a test on Peter. She said she and Peter would be up as soon as they were done.

Sara pulled up a chair to sit alongside Mozzie.

"June, did you sing to me?" Neal asked.

She nodded. "I'd just finished 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' when you woke up."

"I heard you . . . in my dream."

"We were calling to you," she said, looking at him fondly. "Mozzie was singing, too."

"Did you hear me?" Mozzie asked eagerly.

Neal grinned. "You were hard to miss. You were all standing on the Miskatonic River Bridge. Peter and El were there, too." He turned to Sara. "You were there as well."

Sara's malfunctioning heart jumped at the thought she'd been included. "I probably sang the best."

"Not exactly. You were singing about a bridge over troubled warblers."

June broke through the laughter. "I'm sure that's not right. I distinctly remember troubled waxwings, not warblers."

"You're both wrong," Mozzie declared. "It was troubled woodcocks." He launched into song. He truly was as bad as Sara. That must be why she felt so close to him. She chimed in to sing off-key with June singing soprano over them. It was immensely silly, but Neal appeared to enjoy it.

Just as they launched into their chorus of warblers, waxwings, and woodcocks, the door opened.

"Don't stop on our account," Peter said, walking in. He had a robe over his hospital gown and looked fully recovered. "I know how much Neal enjoys singing."

"You're okay?" Neal asked, his expression turning serious. It made Sara wonder even more what had happened on that planet. Would they attempt to hide their ordeal from the others? It would do no good. Not as long as she was around.

"Now that you're awake, I couldn't be better," Peter said, walking over to stand beside him. He scanned Neal as if he couldn't believe the transformation either.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was glad El didn't insist on an immediate examination, but he knew it was coming. Even so, he made an effort to delay the inevitable, protesting that he was fine.

"You might as well give up," Peter advised. "It didn't work for me either."

June stood up. "Sara, let's go scrounge some breakfasts for these two."

"And for us, as well!" Mozzie called out. "Those candy bars don't count."

"Anything in particular you're hungry for?" Sara asked Neal.

"Anything and everything. I'm starving."

"Me too," Peter said. "Aside from a few blue apples we haven't had much to speak of for . . . well, I don't know how long."

"How many times did the suns set on Merope?" Mozzie asked eagerly. "How long did twilight last? I certainly hope you drew the night sky. When may I have your notes? Did you check if they survived your passage through the wormhole?"

"Don't get distracted!" Neal urged Sara. "Food!"

"Coming up," she said with a laugh.

Neal counted it a minor victory that he was able to convince El to unhook the tubes. He wasn't an invalid. Peter didn't have any tubes. He didn't need them either.

During the exam, he felt like he had two physicians. Peter studied every move he made. "Is there something you're not telling me?" Neal asked, not able to stand it any longer.

"No, it's just . . . Your wounds were so severe, it's difficult to believe there's no lingering effect. El told me you show no sign of having been injured, but in my head I see what you looked like on the planet."

"You never described them to me, but I knew what Sornoth had done. What was the damage from the ghasts?"

"You were bleeding internally, probably from a kidney, with a fever high enough that you should have been delirious. The blood loss from the puncture wounds—"

"Not now, Peter," said El firmly. "Neal, take a deep breath and hold it."

Mozzie let out an anguished moan while El listened to his heart. Was that his version of therapy? Mozzie appeared to be the one who needed to be examined, not Neal.

"Why is the world so cruel to me?" Mozzie lamented. "I've yet to be in one single wormhole. What marvelous creation can heal wounds and bring someone back from the brink of death?"

"Hush," El ordered. "You don't know how gravely Neal was injured."

"Peter's account is sufficiently precise. Each time they go through wormholes they're changed. Who knows what would happen to me? Are there other abilities you acquire with each passage?"

"Don't start with the hair growth theory again," Peter warned. "I'm begging you."

With all the chatter going on, Neal was barely aware of the exam. He suspected El performed the bare minimum. She'd already warned him that he'd have to undergo a full battery of tests before he could leave. Mozzie filled him in on Lavinia's revelations. Her shapeshifting ability was the most shocking. It made Neal wonder if Phineas had disguised himself as well. Neal thought back on his professors at Oxford. Had one of them been Phineas?

His thoughts kept returning to Sornoth. Throughout the escape he'd been too drugged to be concerned, but not now. Fangs piercing his side. Blackness. What else had Sornoth done?

El squeezed him hand lightly, returning him to the present. "I haven't found anything to contradict your assessment, Neal. How about setting Peter's mind at ease by demonstrating your walk?"

Neal was happy to comply, not minding to parade around the room, even if he was in a blue polka dot hospital gown. He was in a semi-private room with two beds. No one was in the second to protest.

Mozzie's eyes glinted mischievously. "If you really want to prove to El you're okay, we should perform our dance."

"We haven't done that in years."

"What dance is this?" Peter asked.

He'd have to wait to find out because there was a knock on the door. June and Sara had returned with breakfast.

"Neal, now's a good time to get back in bed, and you too, Peter," El said. "There's an empty bed and you've been up long enough."

Neal didn't have a robe on and beat a hasty retreat. Peter, however, didn't give in so easily. When he raised his objections, El pointed to the bed like she was giving Satchmo orders. "No bed, no food."

While Sara wheeled the food cart in, Mozzie arranged the chairs between the two beds to form a semicircle.

"Suspiciously convenient to have two beds," Peter commented as El adjusted his pillows. "Did you expect me to crash in Neal's room?"

She hesitated for a moment, her expression growing serious. "I'd originally planned for you to be in the same room, but decided against it." She turned to Neal. "Lavinia was unable to provide any estimate of how long your recovery time would be."

"How much longer was I out of it?"

"About five hours, dear," June said. "We were all growing quite anxious."

When Neal heard the length of time, things fell into place. Peter's worry, June's tears. Sara's . . . What was with Sara? He'd caught her studying him several times. Was that nervous exhaustion or something else?

Sara was usually unflappable. Her reactions made him realize how much he'd put them through. They must have wondered if he'd wind up like Thaddeus.

Sara projected the image of being strong and independent. This experience revealed she wasn't as tough as she thought she was. Neal was touched by her concern. It also served as a warning. Extraterrestrials and space travel could be too unsettling for her. He and Peter had gone through it before. They'd grown accustomed to coping with dangerous aliens. Not Sara.

Was he being selfish? She'd had to put up with him as a fake boyfriend. Her abduction might not have happened if Chad hadn't seen the two of them together. Chad could have told the cult to put the hit on her. For Sara's sake, should Neal distance himself?

* * *

_Notes: Confusion reigns for Neal and Sara, and not just about the events on the planet and the intergalactic conflict going on around them. If you've read Nocturne in Black and Gold, you know that there are several matchmakers at work in New York City. Diana has been pelted with suggestions from El, June, Neal, and Sara for how Arkham Neal and Sara should act toward each other. In addition, Neal's cousin Henry has forged a secret alliance with El to plant his own recommendations. Who suggested what is not easy to tell, and Diana is far too savvy to reveal her sources. She also retains full rights to twist any of their ideas however she wishes._

_Peter had Diana add some references to Neal's stay in the hospital in California—more mind games to torment their foes. I wrote about the signals in my blog post: "[Messages to Azathoth: Invisible Wounds](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2018/01/messages-to-azathoth-invisible-wounds.html)." Is Neal truly uninjured or did Sornoth inflict hidden damage? El and Lavinia will discuss his condition later in the story._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[www.pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_  
_New pins include the H'nir River, Miskatonic River Bridge, Kate, and the songs mentioned in the chapter._


	7. The Awakening

**Miskatonic Medical Center. November 16, 1975. Sunday morning.**

It was a Sunday brunch unlike any Neal had ever experienced. He and Peter were ensconced on their beds like royalty while their loyal subjects tended to their every wish. June and Sara were awarded the title of scroungers extraordinaire for the regal repast they'd coaxed out of hospital staff. Neal suspected Sara had tossed around El's name to grease the wheels.

Scrambled eggs, ham, sausage, biscuits, pancakes, fruit, orange juice, coffee—he'd never complain about hospital fare again. While they ate, Peter recounted their experiences on Merope. Neal's own recollections had a dreamlike quality. If Peter hadn't encountered the shilkas too, Neal would have thought he'd invented them. As for Neal's ability to communicate telepathically, Peter said Phineas could do the same thing with both shilkas and chittaks. What did that mean for Neal? Was he part Meropian himself?

He was relieved that no one speculated about his telepathic ability. Lavinia and Phineas were the only ones who could provide enlightenment, but they didn't make themselves available. He spoke briefly on the phone with Lavinia. Phineas was still off world—where she wouldn't say. Some things apparently hadn't changed. With Neal, she was as closed-mouthed as ever. She insisted on postponing any meetings until Phineas returned.

El was the most intrigued by how the shilkas and Phineas had been able to block Neal's pain. "I hope I can persuade Phineas to give me samples. There's no drug I know of which would deaden your symptoms so effectively while allowing you to be alert."

"Oh, I wouldn't say he was alert," Peter countered. "He was . . . well, _loopy_ is the only way to describe it."

"Neal?" A grin spread over Sara's face. "I would have loved to have heard him."

"You wouldn't believe what a chatterbox he is when he's drugged," Peter deadpanned. "We couldn't get him to shut up."

If Peter didn't have a tray of food in front of him, Neal would have flung a pillow at him. "I thought my comments were all highly relevant and informative."

"So you do remember!" he said with a laugh. "Do you happen to recall a certain musical interlude?" He turned to the others. "There we were, trying to sneak out before the ghasts caught wind of us when Neal insisted on serenading us with a Beatles' song."

June smiled. "That's Neal. Always so thoughtful." She turned to him. "Which one did you grace them with?"

"It was 'Blackbird,' a logical choice I thought. It was dark. We were trying to escape. I was singing it very softly as I recall."

"Only because I held my hand over your mouth," Peter reminded him.

Neal knew what Peter was doing and welcomed it. Joking about the ordeal made it seem less terrifying to the others. But not to him. Sornoth and that endless night with the ghasts stalked the fringes of his mind. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was back with them once more. Neal hadn't described the details to Peter. He hoped he'd never have to.

Sara seemed to respond well to their banter, at least some of the time. One moment she'd profess her dismay at not having gone with them and sound every bit as frustrated as Mozzie. The next she'd revert to looking at Neal with big eyes like he was about to turn into a shilka in front of her. She'd follow it up with mock threats of the grilling they'd receive from her. Neal couldn't keep up with her mood swings. He was forced to conclude that their experiences had made a hash of the world she thought she knew.

He could relate. He was as muddled as her lyrics. Confusion about who he was. Curiosity about how he and Peter were healed. Surprise over unexpected emotions. Kate . . . Sara . . . But mainly anger. Anger toward Sornoth, the ghasts, Azathoth. Thaddeus had died because of Sornoth. He nearly had as well.

Everyone wanted to know about the monstrous leopard, but after Sornoth bit him, he'd passed out. The next thing he remembered was being awakened by Peter and Phineas. Hours had passed between the two events. How long had the leopard stayed in the cell with him?

"Phineas believes it was Sornoth who abducted us," Peter said. "He could have been acting under orders from the high priest at Leng or Azathoth himself."

"A leopard able to create a wormhole?" El shook her head. "For even a saber-toothed one, I find that difficult to believe." She turned to Neal. "Did you sense a personality?"

"Or telepathic messages? No. I remember him stalking up to me. His jaws opened and then . . ." Neal let a shrug convey the rest. "Everything went black."

"Why did he stop?" Mozzie asked.

June stared at him horrified. "Be grateful he did!"

"Of course I am, but if what Phineas told Peter is right, the leopard must have had a purpose. Neal, did the shilkas tell you anything about the attack?"

"They fled just before he arrived, and I was unconscious when they returned. Sornoth may have planned to come back to finish me off."

"Or transport you back to Leng," Peter suggested. "In your weakened state, you would have been easy to control. We know nothing about how wormholes are created. Perhaps it takes a while for one to form. Sornoth may have initiated it but by the time it materialized, you'd exited stage right."

El stood up. "And that's what we should all do. Neal and Peter need to rest." When Peter started to protest, she held up a warning hand. "Don't even try. There will be plenty of time to catch up later."

Neal sympathized with Peter but didn't raise any objections. He'd caught June yawning and Sara must be running on fumes. As soon as they left, he planned to question Peter about all the details he might have omitted from his account to the others.

And also thank him. Neal didn't remember everything that had happened in that fortress, but he knew with absolute certainty he wouldn't be back on Earth if Peter hadn't been there.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was midafternoon before El allowed Neal to return home. When she and Peter dropped him off at his house, he walked inside to be greeted by the pungent aroma of June's shrimp étouffée sauce. He found her in the kitchen stuffing mushrooms for dinner. Mozzie and Sara would join them. When Neal offered to help, she insisted he rest instead.

Neal wasn't tired but jogged upstairs anyway. Physically he felt fine, but emotionally? Something was going on, and he better figure it out fast. He only had an hour or so before the guests would arrive.

He flopped on his bed and gazed up at his skylight. The sky was overcast and murky—just like his thoughts. The only thing he knew for sure was that he didn't feel like he had only two days ago.

The problem wasn't Merope. Or that he could communicate telepathically. He'd grown to accept the possibility he might have an alien lurking somewhere on his family tree. There was no point in trying to puzzle out why or how. He'd have to wait for Lavinia and Phineas for that. His communications problem wasn't with extraterrestrials.

Nor could he blame it on Sornoth, except perhaps indirectly. His brain was likely suffering from terror overload and this could be the way it had chosen to cope.

It was, when you think about it, absurd. He'd just returned from another planet. A hostile alien race was intent on conquering Earth. And all he could think about was Sara.

Her behavior at the hospital continued to baffle him. Even more perplexing was why he was so fixated on it.

When she walked into the hospital room, it was like he saw her with fresh eyes. She was no longer simply a friend, but someone he hoped could be much more. Had she realized how turned on he was? When she smiled at him, he went mushy inside. Well, not totally mushy.

Was that it? Was he the cause of her discomfort? Neal groaned aloud. He felt he'd done an adequate job of masking his emotions, but maybe not. Hopefully she attributed it to him having been unconscious.

And that could be the case. His feelings could be a temporary phenomenon. A delayed reaction from the stress of being on Merope. He remembered how his senior year he and Kate had gotten so stressed over their upcoming exams that they decided to combat it by making love. He'd never had such amazing sex. Afterward they'd always looked forward to exams.

Delayed shock from the information overload on Merope might be having a field day with his hormones. That could be why Sara had been transformed into someone so desirable. Not that she wasn't attractive. Just the opposite. With that flaming hair, soft green eyes and a figure which would make a stone respond, she could probably have anyone she wanted. But Neal had never let himself think about her romantically. She'd always been Kate's friend.

No longer.

Or was it the euphoria of being back on Earth? When Neal awoke, Sara was there. He'd nearly died. It was only natural that he'd experience something when he saw a beautiful woman gaze upon him. Clearly he must have a lot of pent-up hormones from being a monk for so long. Now they were all demanding attention.

Neal stood up to pace. The clock was ticking. Sara would soon arrive.

His dream about Kate apparently had acted as a closure of sorts. Her flying off as a bird was brought about by June singing "Bridge over Troubled Water." So far so good. All eminently logical.

His experiences on Merope were cathartic. Neal knew he'd always love Kate but now he accepted she was a part of his past. Ever since her death his feelings had been encased in ice. Now he was thawing out. Again, quite natural. Peter had been reminding him for weeks it was time to let go.

But the exhilaration he felt at the hospital was much more than a gentle thaw. Neal paused to stare out his window. The sun was sinking below the spire of St. Jude's church. He needed to pull himself together. If this was a temporary phase, he needed to bury any trace before embarrassing Sara as well as himself.

He could see it in his mind's eye. Unable to suppress his ardor, he'd ask her to go on a real date. She'd tease him at first. Once she realized he was serious, she'd be tactful in pointing out what a bad idea it was. She'd be upset their fake dating had given him ideas. Then there would be all the awkwardness of rejection. She probably wouldn't feel like they could work together anymore.

Or, suppose she went along. Then, when his passion dissipated, he'd hurt her even more. It wasn't fair to put Sara through that, not after all the kindness and help she'd provided him. Cold showers—that's what he needed. Lots of cold showers.

This could be an effect of space travel. Neal had studied decompression sickness when he'd taken scuba diving at Miskatonic. Traveling through a wormhole could conceivably produce a similar effect. This time the trip seemed to last much longer than any of his other experiences. That could explain why he hadn't displayed the symptoms before.

Decompression syndrome was called the bends. What he was experiencing could be space bends. Although . . . the term wasn't really appropriate. Space wood, perhaps? Neal snorted, glad no one was around to hear it. He didn't remember that being a symptom of decompression illness, but interplanetary travel could provoke some unusual effects.

If he could just keep a lid on his hormones, they'd gradually settle down. He wouldn't inflict himself upon Sara.

It made him wonder if Peter was experiencing the same reaction. Was that why he declined June's invitation to join them that evening? Peter had said he wanted to relax with El tonight. Neal grinned. If Peter felt like him, he wouldn't be resting much.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sara paused at the door to June's house. She could hear the muffled sounds of singing inside. When June had invited her over for dinner, she was concerned that it was too soon. Neal had only been released from the hospital a few hours ago. Wouldn't he need to rest?

Apparently not.

She retreated a few steps to peer into the living room window. Neal was playing a guitar. And the song? What else. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" or Troubled Warblers. Neal had dreamed she'd muddled the lyrics yet again. That was a positive sign . . . and a reality check. Anyone who was romantically interested in her wouldn't think about her muddling lyrics.

She'd deliberately mangled the lyrics of "Woodstock," singing about starlings instead of stardust, as a tease. At the time she didn't know how meaningful those lyrics were to him. He was a starman. Both he and Peter were starmen. Why couldn't she be a starwoman and visit other worlds? If she had her way, she would be.

Her momentary infatuation was just that—a weird effect caused by stress over his abduction. They'd laugh about it someday. It would soon be over. But until then . . . Sara braced herself. She'd need to be vigilant to prevent any relapse. She didn't want to risk spooking a skittish starman.

When she rang the doorbell, both greeted her at the door.

"Mozzie's not here yet," June explained as they walked into the living room.

"I heard you singing. Please don't let me stop you."

"You sure you don't want to join us?" Neal asked cheekily. "You were doing a great job at the hospital."

She made a face at him. "I wouldn't be that cruel to my hostess." As they took their seats in the living room, she added, "I wish I _could_ sing, though."

"I bet you could learn," June said confidently. "Neal didn't sing at all when I first met him."

He picked up the guitar and began strumming it. "Byron taught me how to play and they both encouraged me to sing. When I came to their house after school, more often than not June would be in the kitchen singing."

"I should take cooking lessons from you," Sara said. "As Neal's probably told you, my cooking skills are non-existent."

June smiled tolerantly. "That could be arranged, but only if you sing."

Sara had no desire to learn to cook, but as a way to see Neal more often, the offer had potential. This could be the antidote to the temporary insanity she found herself in. She'd also be able to monitor more closely when he took off for another adventure so she could hitch a ride. "All right. If you're willing, so am I. What song should I start out on?"

June thought a moment. "Since you're into birds—"

"Not really!"

"Of course, you are," she said comfortably. "You've already sung about warblers and starlings. There are many wonderful songs. The Beatles' song about a blackbird is one of my favorites." Her expression softened. "Byron loved that song. It came out shortly before he passed away. Neal sang it at his funeral." She turned to Neal. "You should perform it for us."

As Neal sang the song, Sara's heart raced. Paul McCartney couldn't have sung it better. This was bad. She needed to focus on something before she made an idiot of herself. She pictured herself trying to fry an egg. The egg would stick to the skillet. Her efforts to remove it would be futile and she'd pour more oil on the skillet. The oil would catch fire. The egg would explode into flames and become a lethal missile. First the kitchen then the entire house would turn into an inferno. Neal would guide June outside to safety then he'd return to save her. Meanwhile Sara would have escaped out the window. Neal would think she was in the kitchen and collapse in the kitchen from smoke inhalation.

June was now singing "Blackbird" with Neal, but Sara was immersed in rescuing Neal from the burning house. She'd cover her hair with a damp towel and race back inside. Crawling through the smoke on her hands and knees, she'd find him passed out on the floor. Drawing on her inner superwoman reserves, she'd drag him to safety. Once they were outside on the lawn, she'd administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Prolonged mouth-to-mouth resuscitation . . . Now she was as hot as Neal.

"You should join us for the next refrain," Neal insisted, breaking into her thoughts

This wasn't right. He was supposed to be unconscious from smoke inhalation. Sara shook herself and attempted to sing. It wasn't her fault that she sang about the blackbird frying rather than flying. They thought she was joking. If they only knew.

"That's all well and good, but you need your own song," Neal said. "I called you a mockingbird because you're such a good actress and so persistent. We should make 'Mockingbird' your song."

"The way James Taylor and Carly Simon sing it? With you singing along?" Her mind raced ahead. She could punt the cooking challenge and avoid setting the house on fire.

He nodded. "You up for it?"

"You're on. Let's make this a double-dare. It's up to you and June to teach me to sing it well enough so that by New Year's we can perform it at the coffeehouse without you being embarrassed."

He broke into a laugh. "By New Year's? That's only six weeks away. I admire your confidence and accept your challenge."

By the end of the year, Neal would most likely be back in the friend zone. She would have discovered all his annoying habits . . . if he had any. He'd never know about the fantasies she was imagining, like, for instance—Sara snapped the lid on those wayward thoughts and sighed. Was she doomed to think of burning houses for six weeks?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was relieved to see Sara act more like her normal self—muddling lyrics and joking with him. He'd been surprised that she was excited about the singing lessons, but he took it as a good sign. He was no longer causing her any discomfort. He must be a better con artist than he realized.

Mozzie's arrival was the signal for dinner to begin. He'd brought along two bottles of a truly exceptional French Burgundy to celebrate what he described as shore leave before the next interplanetary voyage. Mozzie also provided the centerpiece for the dining room table—the armillary sphere. Sara had gone to Providence in an attempt to discover more about it, and she'd been waiting for Neal's return to go over the results.

"Caleb Truxton, the owner of the Nautical Shop where Mozzie purchased the sphere, pointed me in the right direction," she explained. "He directed me to an antique shop in the College Hill Historic District of Providence. I went there Wednesday morning and interviewed the shop owner. He'd sold the sphere to Caleb last year. When I asked him about the sphere's ownership history, he let me loose in his records room." She rolled her eyes expressively. "What a mess. Handwritten scraps of paper jumbled together with no sense of order. Neal, I understand your frustrations in deciphering unknown scripts. I felt like I was doing the same. It took the rest of the day but I finally found what I was looking for."

"A name and address?" Mozzie asked eagerly.

She nodded. "George Dunlavy had sold the sphere to the antique shop owner two years ago. I was able to reach him that evening. He owns a cottage in the historic district which he'd purchased in 1962. In 1972 he'd accumulated enough funds to begin an ambitious restoration plan. The remodeling effort included tearing down some of the interior walls. He found the armillary sphere sealed within a wall of the master bedroom. Someone had cut a hole into the plasterboard and hidden it between the wall studs."

"Who was the previous owner?" June asked.

"The homeowner said he'd bought the cottage from Williams Colonial Bank. They told him they'd repossessed it the previous year from Francis Chaseman."

"I'm surprised he still remembered the name," Neal commented.

"I was too. He explained that he'd written it down at the time of the purchase, hoping he'd be able to learn more about the cottage's history. When he tried to contact Chaseman several years later, he wasn't able to locate him. I spent the next day scrounging for information about Chaseman. I checked with the police and the newspapers but couldn't find anything. The bank said the mortgage had been signed in November of 1961, but they'd misplaced the supporting documents. When I returned to Arkham on Friday, I checked with the IRS and they had no listing for a Francis Chaseman in Providence. It was as if he'd never existed."

"Another dead end." Neal tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. He'd gotten his hopes up when Sara mentioned the year. In January of 1962 he'd been found in Arkham.

She tossed him a smile. "Not for me. I don't discourage easily. I'd taken along that photo of Andrew Phelan which Thaddeus had left you. On a hunch I decided to show it around the neighborhood. One elderly woman who lives in the house across the street from the cottage remembers Chaseman. She said he was a recluse and not at all neighborly. I showed her the photo and she thought Chaseman might be an older version of Andrew. She didn't recognize the little girl, but that's not a surprise. We think the photo was taken roughly fifteen years earlier."

"Could she tell you anything about him and his family?" Neal asked, his earlier disappointment evaporating.

"Not much, but she occasionally saw Chaseman with a little boy. She doesn't think the boy went to school. She never saw him playing outside."

"How old was the boy?" Mozzie asked.

"Around seven to nine." Sara turned to Neal. "She said he had dark hair. Neal, it could have been you."

Mozzie nodded. "The age fits. Neal would have been eight years old."

Finally. Someone who'd seen him before he showed up in Arkham, plus additional evidence that Andrew was his father or his grandfather. "Did she ever see a woman?" Neal asked.

"Your mother? No, I'm sorry. Around Christmas the house was apparently abandoned. The neighbor remembers being upset because there were no holiday decorations. When they disappeared, she figured they'd planned it in advance. The police were called in but found no personal belongings and only a few items of furniture. There were a lot of rumors and speculation at the time about what happened."

"What specifically?" Mozzie demanded. His eyes locked onto Sara as if she was about to go supernova.

"A UFO abduction was one of the more popular theories. Some claimed to have heard unusual noises and bright lights. A few speculated that Chaseman was a Communist spy. The most interesting theory was that Chaseman and the little boy were mutants created by Soviet atomic cannons."

June broke out laughing. "That's straight out of _Village of the Damned_."

"The atomic cannons were a giveaway," Sara agreed, grinning as well. "I checked and it was one of the top films at the time. I'm surprised no one mentioned a witch was responsible."

Neal snorted. "I think it's safe that the Soviets weren't involved with what happened."

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it," Mozzie countered. "Still, I must admit a strong preference for the extraterrestrial theory."

"No wonder the woman has such a vivid recollection," June said, passing the French bread. "Nothing like a disappearance to bring out the conspiracy theorists. But your mention of the police is puzzling. I thought you said there were no police records."

"There weren't any," Sara said, helping herself to a slice. "I went back to the police, armed with the neighbor's evidence. They searched through their files and claimed not to be able to find anything which substantiated the woman's claim."

Mozzie tapped the side of his nose. "We know what happened. The aliens destroyed the evidence to cover up their actions."

Neal could play along. "Or the government moved in, seized all the evidence, and it now resides in Area 51."

Mozzie nodded thoughtfully. "Also worthy of further research."

Before Mozzie could start making plans to fly to Nevada, Neal asked, "Does the neighbor remember how long Chaseman lived there?"

"Only a few months, she believes. It remained empty till the present homeowner bought it."

Was Neal the boy in the cottage? Where was his mother? Sara said she'd checked the school records but there was no listing for a boy of seven or eight with the last name of either Phelan or Chaseman.

Mozzie was excited at a possible connection between Neal and the armillary sphere. Perhaps partly influenced by the excellent wine, he gave free rein to his imagination and provided suggestions to Sara on how to continue her research. Neal doubted strongly that any "women of the night" in Mozzie's words would have knowledge of Chaseman. Lavinia, on the other hand, might.

Neal studied the armillary sphere once more. Why had it been concealed in the wall? Where and when had Chaseman acquired it? There was nothing to indicate he'd been the one to hide it. If Andrew was Chaseman, where was Zophar? Merope, Celaeno, and Earth—three planets whose fates were intertwined. Mozzie said the equations inscribed on the rings could refer to gravitational waves. Were wormholes governed by those same waves?

Neal ignored the equations and concentrated instead on the bands of script carved into the rings. Gradually the tracery reformed itself in his mind into something intelligible. Could this actually be happening? Was he reading it or imagining it? His heart pounding loudly, Neal scanned the lines once more. Not daring to breathe for fear he'd lose the ability, he pulled the sphere closer. "Lion's lair?" What did that refer to? An actual lion?

"Did you have another vision?" Mozzie shook his shoulder. "Were you thinking of the leopard Sornoth?"

Startled, Neal looked up to see the others staring at him.

"He might be having a relapse." June sounded worried. Neal blinked rapidly. He needed to reassure her but first he wanted to make sure he understood the text.

"Nonsense," Mozzie scoffed. "He had a vision. Neal, what did you see? You mumbled something which sounded like lion. Did you mean leopard? Next time you have a vision, remember to enunciate your words clearly."

Neal sat back in the chair and took a hasty gulp of water. "I can read the script."

"You _are_ a psychic linguist!" Sara exclaimed.

Neal was unable to provide any insights on how he'd achieved it. "The same thing happened with the appendices to the _Necronomicon_. All I know is that now when I look at it, it's as if I'm reading English."

"Never mind the _how_ ," Mozzie interjected. "Get to the _what_." He grabbed a small notepad from his jacket as Sara reached for one in her bag.

Neal read the lines aloud. "Seek the answers to your questions in Lyon. Go to the lion's lair on the hill that prays and place your hand on the tuft of his tail. The serpent flies overhead."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On a peaceful Monday morning, Lavinia was taking advantage of Phineas's absence to resume her research into eighteenth century France. The chittaks were both sleeping peacefully in the rafters. The library was fortunate to have unpublished letters from Gaston, Duke of Orléans. If his report was accurate, Louis XIII was—

A loud rap on her office door interrupted her musing.

She ignored it. Ch'uli scrambled down the wall to spring onto her shoulder with a soft chitter.

"Not now," she muttered. "Whoever it is can come back later."

"Lavinia, I know you're in there!"

She sighed. Mozzie. What were the odds he'd go away if she didn't answer?

He rapped a second time, more loudly. "I have no intention of leaving until I see you!"

Was she to have no peace? He sounded increasingly infuriated. The Duke would have to wait. Ch'uli had already leaped off her shoulder to hide with Ch'orri in the turret, not that Mozzie would be able to see or hear them. After a quick glance around the chamber to verify that all was in order, Lavinia strode to the door.

She opened it a crack. "I have no time for you. Go away."

He thrust the door open and charged into the room, ignoring her protests. "When you hear what I have to say, you'll regret not having opened the door immediately."

She composed her features into a scowl so fierce that Ch'orri issued his warning cry. "I've already told you that despite your entreaties, we are _not_ a match written in the stars. I will not enter into an amorous or any other kind of relationship with you."

"I accept that you are hesitant about dating someone of another species. Perhaps you have more entertaining and erudite suitors on your home world, but you certainly don't on this one. You should consider your options and reconsider. I'm the most fascinating man you've ever met, and you're by far the woman of my dreams. It's our destiny to be together. You will come to realize that, and I'm prepared to wait for as long as it takes. But, that's not why I came." He sat down at the table and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "Tell me about lions in Lyon."

She stared at him, flummoxed. "Stop talking nonsense. I'm a librarian, not a zoologist. Nor am I your travel agent."

That stopped him for a moment. "You've never heard of a lion's lair in Lyon?"

"Never." She hesitated. She should throw him out but Mozzie looked genuinely perplexed as if he expected her to have a familiarity with the concept. That was intriguing. "Why do you think I would?"

Mozzie gave her the sheet of paper, explaining that Neal had translated the script on the armillary sphere. At last. What they'd been hoping for had happened. Neal could read Celaenian. If only the crystal manuscript hadn't been destroyed, what might he have read? Was his passage through the waterfall portal on Merope the cause of his new ability? It was the first time Neal had experienced a Celaenian wormhole. She couldn't wait to inform Phineas. But the words were baffling. She'd hoped for a more overt message.

"You're telling me the Meropians had nothing to do with the armillary sphere?" Mozzie demanded.

She had no intention of being interrogated. And anything she said might be inaccurate. Their directive to interfere as little as possible and only do the essential to execute their mission had been difficult in the extreme. This was Lavinia's first off-world experience. Inevitably she'd made mistakes. But she comforted herself that she'd disclosed nothing that would change the course of Earth's history, and what she'd revealed had been cloaked in so much obfuscation, nothing could be pinned down.

"The writing of which you speak is Celaenian, not Meropian. That much I can tell you. For the rest, you must wait for Phineas."

"But clearly this comes as news to you as well. Does your species use fractal equations to describe gravitational waves?"

"Didn't you hear me the first time? History, languages—those you can ask me about. Mathematics? You will learn nothing from me." Mozzie looked so disappointed, she tossed him a scrap. "Phineas will return shortly. He may know more."

She started to rise from the table, but Mozzie grabbed her arm. "Not so fast. We're not done yet."

"Oh yes we are."

"I want algolnium."

"Do you also want to be invisible?"

"Yes. Can you do that too?"

Hmm. Her sarcasm was not achieving the typical result. Mozzie was a persistent bee, hovering around her face. Would he give her no peace? Did he intend to sting her? She longed to swat him. "Answer me this. Why do you want algolnium?"

"Am I correct in my hypothesis that algolnium is essential for successful passage in a wormhole?"

She hesitated. She and Phineas had already discussed in general terms how much to divulge. In this case she wasn't revealing anything, only acknowledging something he'd already deduced. A satisfactory solution. "What's your point?"

"Neal and Peter need me. Those fractal equations on the armillary sphere, for instance. They appear to relate to gravitational waves, but you don't know what their significance is. Neither do Neal and Peter. Plainly the Celaenians expect someone who is conversant with higher mathematics to be on the team. Why else would they have included them on the rings?"

A non-sequitur if there ever was one. The gall of the man. Hadn't she just told him she knew nothing about fractals? And now he had the effrontery to use her words against her. Assuming that the Celaenians had left the message for him on the armillary sphere was outrageous . . .  and intriguing.

Mozzie appeared to sense her hesitation as he continued to blast her with reasons why it was essential for him to accompany them off world. "You _know_ I'm right," he said finally, looking exasperated. "Why are you fighting me? I don't understand the nature of your connection to Neal, but it's clear there is one. Nor can you deny the bond he and I share." He added in a quieter tone, "Neal is the link which unites you and me. Surely you understand that it would be unconscionable for me not to do everything in my power to help him. I can't do that unless I'm able to accompany him off world."

She was quiet a moment. He'd made the one argument she couldn't refute. "What makes you think I can satisfy your wish?"

Mozzie was ready for her question as he promptly shot back, "You enabled Peter. You can do the same with me."

"You should know it's not without risk. The effects are not all positive. Yes, you'll be able to travel through wormholes, but you may also become a target of the Ymar."

"Did you inform Peter before you gave it to him?"

"No, but I should have. Back then, we didn't realize the Ymar had made so many inroads."

He shrugged. "Anything worth doing has a certain element of risk. Neal didn't ask for algolnium, either. He shouldn't have to confront the challenges which lie ahead without my support."

He made a strong case. Phineas had advocated giving Mozzie algolnium as well, but when Thaddeus fell into a coma Lavinia vowed not to make any other attempts. Phineas argued that the experiment with Peter demonstrated algolnium could be safely administered in small dosages. If she gave him algolnium, would the others want it as well? Would that be a bad thing?

"Very well," Lavinia agreed. "I'll do as you request, but you are to divulge this to _no one_ until I've discussed it with Neal and Peter."

His face lit up like the stars in Orion's belt. "It will be our secret. Do with me what you will. I'm yours to command."

She stood up and headed for the kitchen.

He followed her. "And does this also mean you'll go out to dinner with me?"

She spun around. He did have a debonair look about him, and his conversations had always been informative. She thought back on that moment years ago when she'd first met Mozzie. He challenged her as no other human had. She'd be remiss in her mission if she didn't take advantage of the situation. "What evening do you propose?"

 

* * *

_Notes: You may have detected Peter's fondness for puzzles in the message on the armillary sphere. The White Collar team knows that a Vermeer painting called The Astronomer is at the center of a scheme to control Neal. In my previous story Peter had considered making a puzzle out of the constellations which are found on the celestial globe in the painting. The riddle on the armillary sphere is the result. I wrote about possible meanings for the references in my blog post: "[Messages to Azathoth: An Unreliable Trigger](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2018/01/messages-to-azathoth-unreliable-trigger.html)." _

_Also in Nocturne in Black and Gold, Neal and Sara had given Diana suggestions for their characters. It was Neal's idea to have his Arkham counterpart have space bends. Sara suggested the singing lessons. As for the relationship between Mozzie and Lavinia—scientific, amorous, collegial, or ?—Mozzie and June are the puppetmasters for that one._

_Next week in Chapter 8: Lineage, Phineas returns to Arkham, and Neal at long last learns the truth about his parents._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: _[_www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com_](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:_[ _www.pinterest.com/caffreycon_](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/) _  
__New pins include the people in the photo Thaddeus left Neal. I imagined that Andrew Phelan looked like Tyrone Power and the little girl resembled a very young Elizabeth Taylor._


	8. Lineage

**Miskatonic University. Monday, November 17, 1975.**

When Neal returned to his office at the university, it was if he'd traveled through a wormhole of a different sort. He'd spent days on a distant planet yet hadn't missed a single class.

In his Anglo-Saxon seminar, he was able to put aside thoughts of Sornoth and focus instead on the battle between Beowulf and Grendel. In the afternoon, he met with Charlene on her paper. After much discussion, they arrived at a mutually satisfactory topic. Tolkien had written that he was inspired by Anglo-Saxon riddles. Charlene could be as well.

Late in the day, Lavinia called with news about his personal riddles. Phineas had returned and wanted to meet with him. In her usual peremptory way, she informed him that Mozzie, Peter, and El should also be present and that they'd meet at Peter's at eight o'clock. Apparently she hadn't felt the need to ask Peter and El beforehand. Instead she left the details of informing the others up to Neal.

"Typical Lavinia," was Peter's only comment, laughing it off.

There was little time spent on small talk when the Meropians arrived that evening. For once, Phineas was wearing a suit instead of safari clothes. A sign of the gravity of the upcoming discussion? He hadn't met El and Mozzie before but treated them as if they were both old acquaintances. And perhaps they were. Phineas, like Lavinia, was a shapeshifter. He could have met them under a different guise.

Neal was glad El suggested they use the dining room. The familiar surroundings brought a degree of comfort to a discussion which he craved and dreaded at the same time. He took a seat opposite his painting of Merope. He could now put a name on the forest he'd seen in his dreams. As for the beachscape, it was still an enigma. It had more moons than Merope had. By the end of the evening, would he be able to put a name to it, as well? And what about himself? Would they finally unlock the mystery of who he was?

El and Peter had supplied beverages and snacks, but Neal doubted he'd eat anything. He was sitting next to El. Mozzie had positioned himself on the opposite side of the table between Lavinia and Phineas. Satchmo was also in attendance. He'd wedged himself close to Neal who was usually a soft touch for handouts. Tonight he'd likely have better luck with Mozzie.

When Lavinia reached for her tapestry bag, Neal knew what was coming—the flask of emerald wine. "We requested you be here because of the impact we've made on all your lives." She nodded at Neal. "Some more so than others. You deserve an explanation. But I warn you in advance, much of what you're about to hear will be distressing. I leave it at your discretion if you want any of the wine."

"Do you have any questions before we start?" Phineas asked.

"It would be helpful if we knew more about who you are," El said. "What is your true appearance?"

"I understand why you'd like to know," he replied, "but our directive precludes us from dispensing any non-essential information about our species. What is relevant to your situation is to know that after Merope was invaded, a few members of our race resolved to assist planets who face similar threats. A council was created to direct the effort, bringing together specialists in various disciplines."

"When did you arrive on Earth?" Peter asked.

"Our people first learned of Earth when Laban Shrewsbury contacted Celaeno," Lavinia said. A brief smile crossed her face at their surprised expressions. "Yes, he found us, not the other way around. Laban discovered a device in an antique store in Lyon, France. It resembles a compendium."

"The only compendium I know about is a type of book," El said. "Is that what you're referring to?"

Mozzie shook his head. "You're referring to the astronomical device, aren't you?" When Lavinia nodded, he added, "It's an instrument designed to perform astronomical calculations. Some are as compact as a pocket watch. Quite popular in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries."

"This particular compendium was engineered to send the equivalent of an SOS call when calibrated a certain way," Phineas said. "Since Agrippa lived in Lyon, we suspect that the same Celaenian who gave him the armillary sphere also provided him with the compendium. Both instruments were no doubt manufactured on Celaeno and designed to resemble local astronomical instruments of the period. Somehow the compendium wound up in the antique store where it was discovered by Laban."

"How did he know how to configure it?" Peter asked.

"We don't think he did. We suspect he was toying with the settings and inadvertently sent a signal. At that time there were no Celaenians left to dispatch to Earth, so the librarian called on us for help. That's the first time a Meropian came to Earth. His name was Zophar. It didn't take long for him to detect signs of Ymar incursions. Particularly alarming was the spread of the Starry Wisdom cult. As I believe you know, it's devoted to the worship of the leader of the Ymar, Azathoth. Zophar took the unprecedented step of taking Laban and his assistant Andrew Phelan to the library on Celaeno."

"How did he accomplish it?" Mozzie demanded. "Was he able to create a wormhole?"

"Zophar had in his possession the crystal manuscript which provided direct access to the library. It was an artifact given to us by the Celaenians at the time our world was invaded. Zophar conferred with the librarian about the crisis on Earth. At the time the Celaenians departed, they believed the threat on Earth was over, but they'd left behind emergency instructions in case the Ymar were able to stage a comeback."

"One of the key elements in their defense strategy was Neal's amulet," Lavinia added.

Neal's hand drifted up to touch the pendant through his shirt.

Lavinia noticed his action. "Your amulet has the ability to seal wormholes and kill ghasts, but only if worn by someone who has Celaenian DNA. It was their way of safeguarding that the amulet could never be used by the Ymar or their converts."

Neal swallowed, his vision blurring for a moment. He'd grown to accept he might have Meropian blood, but not Celaenian. El reached for his hand underneath the table and squeezed it gently. He held onto it, an anchor he sensed he'd need.

"After obtaining their consent, the librarian injected both Laban and Andrew with Celaenian DNA," Phineas said. "The purpose was not to turn them into Celaenians but rather to give them the abilities they'd need to close off wormholes on Earth." He turned to Neal. "As I believe you suspect, Andrew Phelan was your grandfather."

"At first all appeared to go well," Lavinia said, picking up the narrative. "Laban was given the amulet as well as a much higher dose than Andrew to jump-start his abilities. Andrew's role was that of a backup. The librarian believed that with time Andrew's abilities would similarly increase. Laban inherited through the DNA a knowledge of many languages both on Earth and off-world."

That answered a question which had perplexed both Neal and Peter from the beginning. How had an anthropologist learned so many unknown scripts?

"Laban used his gift to write his journal in obscure tongues and codes," Lavinia said. "His goal was to keep the knowledge safe from the cult and Ymar spies. Zophar had returned to Earth with Laban and Andrew. The librarian didn't have a list of the wormhole locations on Earth that the Celaenians had built back in your prehistory to banish the Ymar, but he knew they'd left artifacts behind in subsequent visits which would aid in the search. Laban and Zophar intended to locate the wormholes and close any that had been reopened. Disaster struck when within a year of returning to Earth, Laban was killed by a ghast who set fire to his house."

"The amulet didn't protect him?" Peter asked, shooting a startled glance at Neal.

Crossing her arms, Lavinia shook her head. "Unfortunately not. Zophar was able to salvage the amulet which had been given to Laban and took it to Andrew who was then living in Boston. At that time he had Andrew change his name to Francis Chaseman and go into hiding."

Sara had been right. Francis Chaseman was the name of the man who owned the cottage in Providence where the armillary sphere was found. Neal took a breath and asked the question he felt he already knew the answer to. "Thaddeus had left me a photo of Andrew with a little girl. Was she his daughter? My mother?"

Lavinia nodded. "Her name was Melina." She hesitated a moment, studying him with an unfathomable expression. "I don't know of a kind way to tell you. Melina was killed by a ghast. So was your grandfather, Andrew."

The world blinked in that moment. He'd found his mother only to lose her. He thought he'd already accepted that she was no longer alive. But with Lavinia's words, he realized a tiny ember of hope had remained, and now it too was extinguished. Had ghasts carried her off or killed her on the spot? Neal flashed back to Merope. He saw the ghast hoof striking him. Was that the last thing his mother saw? Was her father Andrew already dead? Or had he witnessed the death of his only daughter only to fall prey to them as well? Neal propped his elbows on the table and clenched his hands in front of his mouth in a futile attempt to contain the grief.

El wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Would you like take a break?"

Neal shook his head, not attempting to speak. He'd waited for years to know the truth. He couldn't stop now.

"Drink this," Peter urged quietly, moving the emerald wine closer. "It will help."

Neal was inclined to refuse. He'd had enough drugs on Merope. But Peter was right. He needed it. "Lavinia, you said Laban gave Andrew the amulet." His voice sounded raw, and he took a sip of the wine. "Why didn't it save him?"

"That does seem illogical," Mozzie agreed. "You told us that Laban was wearing Neal's amulet when he was killed by a ghast. Then Zophar gave the amulet to Andrew and he was also killed. Yet when Neal wears the amulet, he's been able to kill ghasts on two occasions—in front of the Nautical Shop and in the crypt. All three men had Celaenian DNA. What makes it different for Neal?"

"It's not the amulet that's different," Phineas pointed out. "It's Neal."

Neal stared at him flummoxed. What was Phineas talking about? Then it struck him—no one had mentioned his father.

"Around the time of Laban's death, reports of puzzling crimes were popping up across the States and overseas as well," Phineas said. "On a few occasions, stone carvings in the shape of starfish were left behind. The Starry Wisdom cult was growing ever stronger. Zophar feared that wormholes across the globe were being activated. None seemed capable of maintaining stability for more than a few days, but the trend was ominous. Zophar returned to Celaeno to consult with the librarian. You must remember the Celaenians had only limited understanding of humans. It's perhaps inevitable that mistakes were made. Zophar and the librarian concluded that the newly injected Celaenian DNA by itself was not sufficient. The librarian suggested that Meropian DNA be used in combination with the Celaenian to give greater ability to the recipient. And there was only one way they knew of to accomplish it. Zophar returned to Earth and presented their findings to Andrew and Melina who was then a young woman of twenty-one. She volunteered to mate with Zophar. Neal, you're the result of that union."

"My father was Zophar?" His voice came out in a whisper. He looked to Lavinia for confirmation.

She nodded. "Melina hoped her action would give humans their best chance to defeat the Ymar and their allies. No one forced the decision on her. She knew Zophar was a shapeshifter and requested he use his ability to transform into an actor she had a crush on. His name was Montgomery Clift. I remember well when Zophar returned to the council to ask permission for the union. Our leaders were adamantly opposed at first. Never before had a Meropian mated with a human. The fact that Melina also carried Celaenian DNA was somewhat reassuring, but they still felt it was unethical. When they questioned him about the person she'd selected, Zophar reported she'd seen him in a movie, _A Place in the Sun._ It resonated with her and at last the council agreed to let it take place."

Neal sat speechless. No one else broke the silence. Peter nodded to the glass of emerald wine, but Neal didn't touch it. His father was a Meropian who had shapeshifted into Montgomery Clift. What kind of hybrid did that make him? He was filled with profound sadness for his mother. She'd been about his age at the time. What kind of life must she have led? Living under an assumed name with her father. Neal wished he could have at least one memory of her, but there was only blackness.

Sitting across the table from him were two beings who looked human, but weren't. And now he knew he was bits and pieces from three species. With difficulty, Neal focused on the immediate questions. "When did my mother die?"

"In 1961," Lavinia said. "You were still living in Boston. Zophar believed a wormhole in the vicinity had been reactivated. To keep you and your grandfather safe, he urged Andrew to move to Providence."

Neal folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Can Zophar provide more information? Where is he?"

Phineas shifted his weight. "He'd been mortally wounded during the attack on Andrew. He lived only a few days longer."

Neal sagged back into the chair. Was that to be his fate as well? Hunted down by agents of the Ymar? A chill he hadn't felt since Leng penetrated his chest, its icy tentacles freezing his heart. The image of the high priest, clothed in black silk and wearing a yellow silk hood filled his mind. The priest had pressed his gloved hand onto Neal's chest as if to brand him. Y _ou will come again when I call._ He could hear the priest as if he were in the room.

"Lavinia, were you there when it happened?" Peter's low voice roused Neal from the dark place he'd sunk to. Satchmo's nose nuzzled his leg, and Neal dug his fingers into the Lab's warm fur.

"Neither one of us was. Zophar had helped Andrew relocate then returned to our home base to confer with the council. He was concerned that another wormhole would open in Providence or that a ghast would follow them from Boston. He pleaded for additional resources to be sent then returned to Providence."

"I was on another planet when Zophar met with the council," Phineas added. "When I returned to our base, I volunteered to go to Earth. By the time I arrived, Andrew was dead, Zophar was dying, and Neal's whereabouts were unknown. Zophar filled me in on as much as he could before he succumbed to his wounds." He turned to Neal and smiled. "Eventually I located you. Together we closed the wormhole in Providence."

Mozzie snapped his fingers. "You chose your character for Neal! The safari clothes, the pith helmet—they were designed for a child."

"Guilty as charged," he admitted with a chuckle. "Neal, you'd lost your mother and grandfather. I don't think you ever knew Zophar was your father. I endeavored to make myself approachable. I'd given myself a crash course on your culture, and decided Doctor Dolittle blended with Doctor Livingstone would be a good fit. My original intention was to serve as a backup for Zophar."

Neal struggled to recollect even the faintest shred of a memory from that time, but there was nothing there. He cleared his throat. "Why can't I remember what happened?"

"We had no choice," Lavinia said bluntly. "It was to save your life."

Neal stared at her in dismay. They'd given him amnesia?

"In order to close the wormhole, you needed a much higher level of algolnium in your system," Phineas said with a sharp glance at Lavinia. "I had to expose you to a piece of raw ore to quickly activate what was already inside you. But your body was too small to tolerate the higher concentration."

"What do you mean by that?" El asked. "As a child, did Neal have more than he does now?"

"When Neal was born, the algolnium in his system was dormant," Lavinia explained. "The element requires a trigger to begin the self-replication process, and Zophar was careful to make sure none was around. He feared Neal was too young, and he was right. That's the way it is for our species. It's only when our children have achieved adulthood that we allow them to experience what we call the awakening."

"When I arrived," Phineas said, "I was faced with an active wormhole which was staying open longer than any others had before. Reports of horrific crimes were coming. It was essential the wormhole be sealed. The ore I exposed Neal to acted on him like Peter's starfish artifact but at a much faster rate. We were successful, but it was also apparent that Neal's systems were starting to shut down. He wouldn't have survived much longer. I contacted the council for emergency assistance."

"That's when I arrived on Earth," Lavinia said. "In effect, I quarantined most of the algolnium within him. The process is a difficult one. It had the unfortunate side effect of giving him amnesia. Phineas and I took it upon ourselves to keep watch until Neal had matured enough to handle the gifts which had been given him. I brought him to Arkham and took up my post as head librarian."

"But why didn't you take care of him?" El protested angrily. "You abandoned a child and expected he'd be okay?"

"Phineas was facing an emergency of dire consequences," she said calmly, apparently unfazed by El's reaction. "I didn't have time to study your culture as we would normally do. I had no knowledge of how you rear your offspring. Meropians take care of all children as if they were our own. I assumed the same was done on Earth. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late." She glanced at Mozzie and El in turn. "You were shocked when you learned that I'd tested you. Perhaps now you understand why. I'd failed Neal once. I was determined not to do so again. Mozzie, I first relied on you to improve Neal's situation."

"We suspected as much," Mozzie said. "You planted the idea of my participation in the summer astronomy camp. You hoped I'd connect with him."

She nodded. "I saw in you a worthy role model."

Neal looked at her stunned. How much had she been guiding his life? "Did you give Thaddeus algolnium?"

Her expression became grim. "I did."

"We both agreed," Phineas added. "Algolnium is what allows you to see ghasts and nightgaunts. It allows you to enter wormholes. We didn't know when the Ymar would make their next attack but we didn't want you to have to face them alone."

"Couldn't you have helped?" El asked.

"We couldn't stay here all the time. Lavinia and I both have other responsibilities. When you were admitted to college, we deemed the time was right to advance your education by providing the best mentor possible."

"We miscalculated the amount of algolnium to administer," Lavinia added, "and as a result Thaddeus became addicted to the rarities in the vault. He drove you too hard in his insatiable thirst for knowledge. We were forced to conclude that he was unsuited for the challenges which lay ahead. In 1970, I assisted Peter on a research project." She paused to give him a nod. "I was impressed by your open-mindedness and adventurous spirit. Your skills in archaeology were a natural fit with Neal's and would make you a suitable colleague."

"I consulted with you often during that period," Peter said. "And when my brother Tommy died, you helped me through a rough time. I'll be forever grateful for that."

She smiled her appreciation. "I was glad to assist. I thought at the time that you and Neal both would benefit by working together. I decided to lace the emerald wine you drank with a small amount of algolnium to serve as a starter. I gave you a tiny fraction of what I'd given Thaddeus in the hopes you would not suffer any ill effects. The experiment was a success. Since you were not being exposed to any outside sources of algolnium, the amount within you grew at a glacial pace."

Neal watched Peter for his reaction. He'd been experimented upon without his knowledge and picked for a task which they still didn't understand. But there was no resentment or anger on his face. He'd appeared to have compartmentalized his personal feelings in order to make an objective evaluation of the overarching mission. Peter had been drinking the emerald wine throughout the presentation. Neal had been restricting himself to a few small sips, but was that a mistake? Wasn't it time to embrace the benefits the wine, just like algolnium, provided?

Lavinia turned to El. "Our experiment with Thaddeus was unfortunate but we had no way of predicting the results. We were, as you might say, flying blind. I appreciate that you must think what we did was unethical, but we believe our mission—to protect your world—provided us with sufficient justification."

Neal was glad to see El was drinking the wine, as well. "I'd rather hold off any judgment until I understand the extent of your actions," she said.

"A reasonable request," Lavinia said, "which we will honor. It was our intention to postpone Neal's awakening until he was thirty. At that point we hoped his system would be mature enough to handle the jolt it'd be given when the extra algolnium was released from quarantine."

"After the attacks in Providence," Phineas said, "we heard of no further incursions for many years. We don't know the cause but suspect the Ymar were focusing on another planet. That changed in late 1974 when we began hearing ominous reports. The first incidents were in Europe when Neal was at Oxford. We agreed we couldn't wait any longer. Neal, I began planting the dreams in your head about Merope and Celaeno."

Neal glanced at the beachscape he'd painted. "That's Celaeno?"

He nodded. "The planet has been shut off to visitors since the destruction of the library, but we still have images of what it looks like."

"Did you also plant the visions of Abydos . . . the stairway down to the abyss?" Neal asked.

"That was our mutual decision," Lavinia said firmly. "We had to know if you were ready. The abyss you saw in your dream was only a vision. The abyss you experienced when you plunged through the wormhole in St. Jude's Church was real. If you'd been traumatized by the vision, we would have had no choice but to postpone the awakening."

"What about my vision of Seth's murder in the bookstore? Or when I saw a ghast steal the armillary sphere?"

Lavinia hesitated and nodded at Phineas. "That wasn't us," he admitted. "We suspect it has something to do with your Celaenian heritage. The starfish, though. That I can answer for." Phineas locked eyes with everyone there in turn. "For years I searched for a starfish artifact. Zophar knew some were still in existence and my cover as an ornithologist allowed me to travel the globe."

"They're Celaenian?" Peter asked. "We assumed they were connected to the Ymar."

"You're partly right," she said. "The ones found at crime scenes were made by the Ymar, but the first starfish were artifacts from the Elnath. The Ymar usurped the starfish shape along with their language when they invaded Earth. Those early Elnath starfish, such as the one in Peter's possession, were made from ore from a massive meteorite crater in Upper Egypt." A brief smile flitted over her face. "Ergo they don't _poof_. The starfish used by Azathoth to instruct ghasts come from the A-Brane. We believe the Ymar found a way to make them self-destruct after a certain length of time."

"Once I found the artifact," Phineas said, "I set events in motion for Peter to discover it."

"But how?" Peter objected. "That expedition had been initiated by Gideon Talmadge. Are you able to manipulate him too?"

"No need," Phineas said, setting his glass down on the table. Before Neal's eyes in a matter of seconds he transformed into the global financier Gideon Talmadge.

Neal stared at him, shocked. Peter was the first to speak up. "A neat trick. You replaced him, but why didn't the real Talmadge question the expenditure?"

"You misunderstand me," Phineas said. "I _am_ Gideon Talmadge. Zophar had maintained a second identity. He advised me to do the same. By establishing myself as a wealthy benefactor, I've been able to send you on expeditions, encourage Mozzie's research, and provide the scholarship to Oxford for Neal."

A flash of understanding crossed Peter's face. "I was supposed to go on an expedition to Australia this fall. It was canceled at the last moment. _You_ did that."

Talmadge or Phineas nodded. Neal was at a loss what to call him. He'd gotten used to the unreality of his off-world experiences, but now he was supposed to accept an equally surreal world embedded within his everyday life. Nothing would ever be the same again.

"You were needed here in Arkham," Talmadge said. "We'd arrived at a critical juncture. Our hope was that Neal would reach out to you."

Neal thought back on that day two months ago when he'd decided to consult with Peter about the starfish he was seeing in his dreams. Neal had never met him. He came within a hair's breadth of changing his mind. What would his life have been like if he hadn't taken the initiative? "Why didn't you let me know anything about your plans?" he asked Lavinia.

"It was a test to see if you were ready," Lavinia admitted. "You may be angry at us for not having revealed more at an earlier stage. I understand if you feel you were manipulated. We've been working to give your world a chance to escape the ravages inflicted on so many others by the Ymar. But you're free to walk away if that's what you want."

Turn his back on the sacrifices his parents had made? Forget that ghasts had killed his mother, his father, and his grandfather? Ignore that the Ymar wanted to enslave Earth? Neal swallowed down the urge to lash out blindly. "Do you know why Peter and I were abducted to Merope? What does Azathoth want with me?"

Before they could answer, Peter added, "Do the Ymar know about Neal's heritage?"

Lavinia and Talmadge were silent for a few moments. They appeared lost in thought, but their eyes flicked back and forth. Neal suspected they were communicating telepathically. His unease increased.

"As we explained, we believe the Ymar can detect if someone has algolnium," Talmadge said, breaking the silence. "We don't know if they have any ability to sniff out Celaenians. I suspect when Neal was taken to Leng, the High Priest became aware of your nature." He turned to Neal. "It's likely the Ymar want to control you, not kill you. I wish I could tell you more about your nature, but we have only limited understanding of Celaenian abilities and we don't know how much you inherited."

"We're unable to read their language," Lavinia added. "You're the only one we know of who can. It's possible the Celaenians shared some of their DNA with other members of your race or representatives from other species, but that's pure speculation. Zophar had kept the council informed about Laban and Andrew. He'd told them about the librarian's actions. He believed Celaenian DNA needed time to mature just like algolnium. I'd hoped exposure to the crystal manuscript would activate your natural ability."

"Like the starfish artifact does for algolnium," Peter prompted.

Talmadge nodded. "We also suspect that Neal may have inadvertently destroyed the crystal manuscript." He turned to Neal. "You may have subconsciously sensed it had been corrupted and willed its destruction."

"Simply by thinking about it?" Neal asked, shocked.

He nodded. "The mind is a powerful weapon. It was the only one Celaenians ever employed. Your skills continue to increase. The wormhole you entered on Merope was constructed by Celaenians. It may have jump-started the Celaenian component within you."

"In other words, Azathoth could have done him a favor by abducting him to Merope," Mozzie mused, pursing his lips. "A provocative theory. Is there an element or some force contained within wormholes that we're not familiar with?"

Talmadge directed his answer to El. "You're at a loss to explain how Peter and Neal were healed in the wormholes. I can offer you no clear evidence but this is our understanding. We believe that Celaenians continue to exist in the form of conscious energy. Neal has described the gnawing sensation he's felt within wormholes. We've experienced the same effect and believe it's Celaenian energy. That's what heals wounds."

"You said _conscious_ energy," El said, her brow furrowing. "Does that mean when someone enters a wormhole, it decides whether or not to let them pass?"

"We suspect if the energy is present, it has that ability." Talmadge turned to Neal. "Lavinia told me about the message you'd read on the armillary sphere. I recommend we meet tomorrow to discuss it. We've covered enough for one evening." He turned to the others. "This is a moment we've long anticipated. The tragedies of the past don't have to be repeated. Thanks to the gift Neal was given, we have the opportunity to shut down the Ymar once and for all. That's what the librarian believed, Zophar believed, and we do as well. But we recognize each of you needs time to consider whether you wish to proceed. It should be clear to you that the road ahead will be a dangerous one. Based on your decisions, we'll chart the path forward."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal and Mozzie stayed to help clean up after Lavinia and Talmadge left. The familiar routine of drying plates was welcome while Neal sorted through his chaotic thoughts.

He was thankful Talmadge hadn't pushed for an immediate response. Anything Neal would have said would have been inadequate. He didn't even know how to address the man. Whoever he was, he along with Lavinia had watched over Neal since he was eight. Neal was left wondering just how many of the decisions he'd made over his life had been influenced by them. In a very real sense, he'd been bred for a mission that he understood in only the vaguest of terms. The knowledge that he'd been observed and monitored his entire life by an alien race was not a comforting one. But overriding everything else was the anger he felt toward the Ymar. The ghasts were just their puppets. Neal laid the responsibility for the murder of his parents on Azathoth and his fellow Ymar.

"You okay?" Peter asked in a low voice.

Neal realized he'd been standing in place wiping the same plate for at least five minutes. If he didn't stop, there wouldn't be any design left. "It's a struggle," he admitted. "Grief, anger . . . gratitude to Lavinia and Phineas for their efforts." He shrugged. "More than a little frustration over not being clued in earlier. How about you?"

 "I'm not thrilled that Lavinia gave me algolnium without my being aware of it. But in fairness to her how could she have explained it? When she started, we didn't know what algolnium was. You were an undergrad with no knowledge of your heritage. Do I regret that they helped me find the starfish artifact and that they encouraged us to meet? Not for a second." He smiled at Neal as he hung up the dish towel. "I guess if I had to express my emotion in one word, I'd say _honored_."

"I'd use the word _ecstatic_ ," Mozzie added. "We've been chosen to save the world while expanding our knowledge of the universe." He turned to Neal. "This is your chance to make up for the tragedies of the past. That's a rare gift."

Trust Mozzie to put a positive spin on what to anyone else would sound like a crushing burden. Neal turned to El. "And you?"

"I have my concerns," she admitted. "The genetic manipulation they practiced by injecting alien substances into humans with virtually no advance knowledge of what the effects would be? That violates every principle I've sworn to uphold.  And even though their cause was noble, the results have not all been positive. What happened to Thaddeus was tragic."

Neal nodded. Thaddeus had been estranged from his father since his college days. When Lavinia finally told Thaddeus the truth about his father—thirty-plus years after the fact—how would he have felt? Lavinia gave Thaddeus the photo of Neal's grandfather and mother when Neal was a freshman. At the same time, she explained who Andrew was. That was when Thaddeus agreed to become Neal's advisor. Thaddeus had encouraged Lavinia to keep Neal in the dark about his family history. Why? Was it because of his own relationship with his father? Laban hadn't revealed anything to Thaddeus so in some sort of retribution would Thaddeus have wanted Neal to be treated the same way? That simply didn't equate with the man Neal knew. More likely he believed Neal was too young to handle it.

For the Celaenian DNA to strengthen within Neal, Lavinia felt he needed to be in proximity to the crystal manuscript, but what was the correct exposure? She could only make an estimate. Among Meropians the algolnium strengthening process didn't begin till youngsters were twice as old as Neal. After messing up with Thaddeus, she couldn't take any more chances. Neal was their last hope. A terrifying thought for her and now him as well. An inheritance that he couldn't waste.

"You're welcome to stay here tonight," Peter offered.

"Thanks but you and El need time alone, a chance to come to terms with what you've learned." There was no doubt what Neal would do, but would they want to be involved in such a dangerous undertaking? Then there was Sara. She worked so hard to unravel the mystery of his childhood. She needed to hear the truth then evaluate whether she wanted to continue to be a member of their group.

El crossed the kitchen and wrapped him in a hug. "Just remember, you're a member of our family and we're here for you."

He relaxed into her embrace for a moment, letting the tension seep out, before pulling free. "Thanks, El."

"You too," she added, kissing a flustered Mozzie on the cheek. "The Meropians may have made some mistakes but uniting us was not one of them."

He and Mozzie left a few minutes later. Tomorrow would be a full day, and not just of classes. Before leaving, Talmadge had arranged to meet them in the cemetery at dawn. He'd never seen the disk in the crypt. Neal also wanted to return. Now that he could read Celaenian, he should be able to read the inscription. Later in the day, he hoped to have that conversation with Sara.

Neal walked with Mozzie to his car. They'd then head in different directions. Mozzie back to the university and Neal to June's. It was time to part ways. Should the same be said for their future? Andrew had changed names, left his job, and gone into hiding. Wouldn't that be the best course for Neal as well? It'd be safer for the others.

Mozzie paused with his hand on the door handle to look up. The night sky was brilliant with stars with no moon to dim their radiance. "This reminds me of that first Christmas we spent together, remember?"

Neal smiled. "How could I forget? It was magical." It was the Christmas after they'd met at camp. Neal had sneaked away from his foster home that evening to take Mozzie his present, a portrait he'd drawn of Mozzie against a star-filled sky. It wasn't very good but Mozzie pronounced it a masterpiece. Mozzie had given him a pair of binoculars and they'd spent the entire evening on the roof above his office, stargazing and eating Christmas cookies. "I have the binoculars you gave me in my office."

"And I still have my portrait! That was when I told you the story of Perseus, and how you were linked to the constellation."

Sitting on the roof that night, Neal had opened up about the amnesia and the problems he was having at the foster home. In a typical bravura gesture, Mozzie had declared that Neal was like Perseus. Perseus's father was a god. Mozzie concocted a fantasy where Neal's father was an extraterrestrial with super powers. Mozzie disclosed that he was also an orphan and had grown up in foster homes. He'd spun the same sort of stories around his own origin to make the loneliness more bearable.

"I didn't realize how prescient my comments were," Mozzie said. "I happen to have a container of chocolate chunk cookies June gave me. I bet you're not going to sleep much tonight. We could stargaze, eat cookies, and reflect on the future. And if you want to sleep, the couch is yours, although you'll have to share it with Betelgeuse. You've crashed there before."

"It's a tempting offer but I don't think I'm ready for that yet." At some point when the emerald wine wore off, Neal sensed the emotions would take over. No one should have to witness that.

Mozzie turned to face him, his expression softening. "I know what you're feeling. I've been there too. It's beginning to sink in that you'll never get to meet your parents. You shouldn't be alone tonight."

The kindness in Mozzie's voice was overwhelming. Neal didn't attempt to speak but simply nodded.

Mozzie opened up the passenger side door. "Hop in. We'll go by June's and pick up some clothes."

Neal swallowed with difficulty the gigantic lump which had formed in his throat. "I'd like to tell her what I found out." He slid into the passenger seat.

"Naturally. The stars aren't going anywhere. I believe there's a bottle of champagne in my refrigerator, too. Yes, that will go very well with cookies." Mozzie got into the car and inserted the key into the ignition.

"Champagne's for celebrating. I don't think I'm—"

"Who says we don't have anything to celebrate?" Mozzie interjected. "I could have news worth a bottle or two."

Neal broke into a smile. "Lavinia agreed to go on a date?"

"Yes, but that's not all. She gave me algolnium!" Mozzie explained how he'd won her over. "She made me promise not to tell anyone but I'm sure she only meant Earthlings, not you. Peter, you, and me—we're a trio of adventurers about to embark on the grandest adventure ever conceived. Has it occurred to you that in a very real sense we've become defenders of the galaxy?"

Mozzie's high spirits were infectious. Did Peter feel the same way? The route ahead might not be such a lonely one after all.

 

* * *

_Notes:  Next week in the final chapter, Neal will learn more about what lies in store for him and his friends. Mozzie is convinced he already knows._

_In this chapter, Peter made his strongest argument yet to Rolf Mansfeld. For years, the cybercriminal had assumed the identity of Alistair Chapman, creative director for a special effects company. What is he to make of Gideon Talmadge, a man who has been living a double life? That's the topic of this week's blog post—[Messages to Azathoth: Dreams](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2018/01/messages-to-azathoth-dreams.html)._

_Thanks for reading and commenting! Some of you have expressed an interest in hearing more about Neal's past. Henry has also been campaigning secretly through Elizabeth to be included. Those will be subjects in future stories. In the meantime, I've added pins of Neal's mother Melina, Zophar, Andrew, and Neal as an 8-year-old to the Pinterest board._

_Penna is currently working on stories for the AO3 Chocolate Box challenge. Authors will be revealed on February 21. In the meantime, she's written a blog post about a different type of creative writing challenge—writing a resume. The post is called[Resumes: an exercise in creative writing](http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2018/01/resumes-exercise-in-creative-writing.html)._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[www.pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_


	9. A New Day

**Swan Hill Cemetery. November 18, 1975. Tuesday morning.**

Frost from a chilly dawn lay heavy on the gravestones of the cemetery when Neal, Peter, and Mozzie met Gideon Talmadge. Neal kept his hands stuffed in the pockets of his overcoat. He kept a wary eye on Talmadge, half-expecting him to transform into Phineas at the blink of an eye.

Neal hadn't had a chance to speak with Peter yet. Mozzie was convinced that Peter would want to be included in any future project, but Neal wasn't as optimistic. Unlike Neal, Peter already had an established career and reputation to consider.

But if Peter had any doubts, he wasn't displaying them. He was in full archaeologist mode as he described to Talmadge the tests his team had run on the crypt.

A reinforced door equipped with a sophisticated lock now safeguarded the mausoleum. The family who'd erected it had died out decades ago. After the discovery, the property was claimed by the city as a site of historical significance.

They switched on their flashlights when they entered the mausoleum. The archaeology team had done a good job of cleaning up the inside. Gone were the thick layers of dust and cobwebs. The staircase leading down to the crypt had been cleared of the chunks of masonry which used to partially block the entrance.

Once they descended the steps to the underground passage, Neal watched for the large pink cave centipedes which formerly clung to the walls. If there were any, they were hiding. 

Peter pointed out the mortar holding the limestone slabs together. "We were able to extract organic materials and date them to approximately the same age as the bronze disk—6,000 BC."

Talmadge nodded as if he'd already expected the correlation. "This passage along with the wormhole gateway was likely built by Celaenians during the struggle to evict the Ymar from your world."

"Do you have any idea how many similar sites may exist?" Mozzie asked.

"I know Providence has a gateway. That was the one Neal closed with my assistance when he was a child. The council suspects this region of New England was one of the main Ymar strongholds. Remember that wormhole gateways were constructed not only by Celaenians but also by the first colonists of Earth, the Elnath. Celaenians may have reconfigured some of those earlier portals for their own use, but we have no information about them."

When they arrived at the terminus of the passage, Talmadge stroked the rough stone surface with his hand.

Peter stood beside him. "That's the wall which opened onto the monastery of Leng."

As Neal studied the wall, it was difficult to believe the nightmarish scene he and Peter had witnessed that night. The gorilla-like gug which had emerged from a stairwell behind the altar to try to penetrate their world . . . If they hadn't succeeded in sealing the portal, what other horrors could have emerged?

"All our attempts to reopen the wormhole have been futile," Mozzie added. "It was not for lack of trying."

Anyone who didn't know Mozzie might wonder why he would possibly want to reopen it. On the other hand, it was impossible to predict what someday might be necessary. Neal suspected whatever lay in store for him would include a return trip to Leng. Talmadge had speculated Neal might be capable of using his amulet to reopen the wormhole but he'd given no indication of how he could accomplish it.

He stood in front of the engraved disk. Only a couple of weeks earlier, he'd stood at this spot and was unable to read the lines of script which formed a circular border. Now the meaning was clear. _Portal to the Monastery of Leng. To remain sealed until the Ymar are no longer a threat._ As the others gathered around him, he read the lines aloud.

"It was to remain sealed," Peter repeated and turned to Talmadge. "Do you know how the Ymar managed to reopen it?"

"When the Ymar defeated the Elnath, they enslaved many of their scientists. Their descendants may still be working for them." Talmadge swept the cave with his flashlight. "Gentlemen, I suggest we table our discussion till we gather this evening. We should have the armillary sphere present if the owner will permit it." He raised an eyebrow at Mozzie.

"We can use Cyrus's chemistry lab," Mozzie suggested. "There aren't any evening classes. I plan to meet with him this afternoon to inform him of developments—" He stopped abruptly. "I assume that's allowed?"

Talmadge smiled. "If you wish to know if he's already been tested, the answer is yes." He nodded at Neal. "As has June. We felt the precaution was warranted. If you want to include them in tonight's discussion, I won't stand in your way."

As they walked back to their cars, Mozzie bounded ahead to match strides with Talmadge. Apparently he sensed that Talmadge had a burning desire for an in-depth explanation of his latest gravitational wave theory. Neal had been the lucky recipient the previous night.

"Mozzie seems unusually . . . um . . . _bouncy_ today," Peter muttered. "Any particular reason?"

Neal hesitated. Lavinia had ordered Mozzie not to tell anyone, but Mozzie had already ignored her. Peter was also a "non-Earthling." He had an equal right to know. "Mozzie coaxed Lavinia into giving him a dose of algolnium," he murmured. "Mozzie is now like us—not entirely of this world."

Peter snorted. "It was bound to happen. Thanks for the warning, though. Once El hears about it, she'll undoubtedly want algolnium, too. Lavinia's caution about how it would make the recipient a potential target of the Ymar will be countered by her insistence that she could be of material assistance to us."

"You said us. Does that mean you still want to be involved?"

"Are you kidding? Of course we do." Peter stopped in his tracks to study him. "You didn't seriously think we'd back off?"

Neal shrugged. "I'd understand it if you did. You've got your careers. The good guys haven't been very successful."

"That's because we weren't around." His expression grew serious. "We're aware of the risks. It was clear what your choice would be, and it was equally an easy decision for us. You can't possibly tackle this on your own. El feels the same way I do. It's rare to have the opportunity to do something so meaningful with your life. I believe what Lavinia and Talmadge said. We've witnessed too much to doubt their words. We can't turn our backs on the threat." He smiled. "And the fact we may be able to unearth traces of earlier alien civilizations on Earth doesn't hurt. Any archaeologist worth his salt would give his eyeteeth for the opportunity."

Neal breathed easier at his words. What would have happened on Merope if Peter hadn't been along? "All right, then. I'll take this as confirmation you and El are signing up to be defenders of the galaxy."

Peter snorted. "Is that what you're calling us?"

"Not me. Mozzie. Along with a few other terms, like a trio of adventurers. With El we'll be a quartet."

"Better make that a quintet," Peter advised. "Once Sara hears about Mozzie, she won't rest till she has algolnium too."

"She won't hear that from me. She's coming to my office this afternoon. I intend to fill her in on what we learned last night, but not about Mozzie's news. He can tell her."

"Smart move."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El called Lavinia as soon as Peter left for the mausoleum. She'd prepared her script in advance and rehearsed her counter-arguments if Lavinia raised any objections. But when El suggested a meeting, Lavinia appeared genuinely pleased. She even invited El to join her for morning tea. An omen for a fresh start in their relationship? Talmadge's personality was radically different from the little she'd seen of Phineas. Was the image Lavinia projected also just that? A mask she used to conceal her true nature? El hoped that she'd get along better with this different version.

Since El had worked on Saturday, her Monday morning was clear. On the spur of the moment, she decided to bake a peace offering for the formidable alien. The scones were still warm when she knocked on the massive oak door of Lavinia's office.

What a change from a few days ago! Lavinia was gracious as she invited her inside. Her change in attitude brought home more than anything else how all their lives had been transformed.

"These are for you," El said, giving her the basket. "Lemon rosemary scones. I hope you like them."

"Very kind of you, Elizabeth, thank you." Lavinia invited her to sit at the table while she brought out the tea service.

El breathed in the scents of sandalwood and cardamom in the air. It reminded her of a market she and Peter visited in Morocco. She took a moment to gaze up in the rafters, but, as she expected, no golden eyes were to be seen. Peter had explained about the chittaks living in Lavinia's turret. She longed to see them for herself.

But this morning's focus was on Neal, and El quickly brought the conversation around to her concerns. "The reason I asked to speak with you is to discuss a point you made last night. Neal has made six trips through wormholes. On two of those occasions he was sucked into a crystal portal apparently at the command of the Ymar, but no one knows why. Any wounds he received off-world appear to be healed by passage through the wormhole."

Lavinia poured her a cup of tea. "But you worry that may not be the case?"

El nodded. "Did the leopard Sornoth do something to him that we're unaware of? I've examined him thoroughly and can't find anything wrong, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. I wouldn't have found the algolnium he carries if he hadn't displayed a sensitivity to it."

"I share your concern. My fear is that the Ymar placed some sort of tracer in Neal which enables them to detect his location. Another possibility is that they injected him with a substance to make him less resistant."

"Do you have any way to check?"

"Unlike the Celaenians, our knowledge of the Ymar is quite limited. I'm not familiar with any tests that we could run. On our home base we have scientists who have specialized in what best may be described as chemistry. I've already consulted with one of them about Neal and Thaddeus. Are you willing to give me a sample of Neal's blood? I could ask her to run tests on it."

El promised to bring her a sample that afternoon. "Before Neal traveled to Leng, I'd run an MRI on him. He admitted afterward that he'd felt a malevolent presence in the chamber with him. You warned him not to have any more MRI scans. Is there something about magnetic fields which the Ymar can sense?"

Lavinia didn't say anything for a moment as she nibbled on one of the scones. She absently brushed something off her shoulder, although El didn't see anything there. "You bring up an intriguing point. Each of us has a unique magnetic resonance which creates a distinct harmony. Melody may be the better word. Interpreting magnetic resonances is a diagnostic tool employed by our physicians. When Neal was in the MRI, his resonance was distorted and amplified. Azathoth might have been able to sense him."

"Could I be trained in the technique?" When Lavinia hesitated, El rushed to continue. "I'm Neal's physician, but my skills are insufficient. I know nothing of Meropian or Celaenian physiognomy. You say his abilities will increase with time. Perhaps he will also experience medical issues. You admit he's a unique hybrid."

Lavinia pursed her lips in silence for a moment then nodded. "I too have felt woefully inadequate to address Neal's needs as a human."

El was surprised to hear Lavinia be so open. Apparently, El's suspicions were correct. The shell Lavinia presented to others was a coat of armor designed to shield her from a world she knew little about and felt ill-equipped to cope with. El suddenly had much more sympathy for her.

"I'll need to consult with the council," said Lavinia. "We've never shared our medical knowledge with any other race, but Neal's unique status may well provide enough justification—what's wrong?" she asked sharply. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Bewildered, El felt her mouth drop open. "Your scone just rose off your plate and disappeared!"

Lavinia broke into an infectious laugh. It made El chuckle as well. "That, my dear, was Ch'orri, one of my chittaks. He finds your scones delicious, as do I."

"I wish I could see him!"

"Perhaps someday you shall."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal paced in his tiny office on the top floor of Wingate Hall. Sara was due to arrive. He'd spent the past several minutes gathering his thoughts. About his heritage. About the Ymar. How would Sara respond to the revelations?

She needed to have a chance to decide if she wanted to continue to be included in their future activities. Lavinia and Talmadge gave him that option. She should have it as well. He knew he could trust her to keep his secrets safe, no matter what she decided.

When Sara knocked on the door, he suddenly found himself tongue-tied. This would be a lot easier to do if his feelings had calmed down, but just looking at her gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach he hadn't experienced since Kate. Fortunately Sara was never shy about getting the conversation started.

She waved a bag in front of him. "I stopped off to get us coffee." She handed him a cup. "Did you find out about your parents?"

He popped the lid and breathed in the aroma of hazelnut coffee. "You were right. The man who owned the cottage in Providence—Francis Chaseman—was my grandfather, Andrew Phelan. I must have been that little boy the neighbor saw."

"Did they know what happened to your mother?"

"She'd already passed away. Killed by a ghast a few months earlier."

"I'm so sorry." She swallowed and put a hand to her mouth. 

When he saw the sympathy in Sara's eyes, the wound opened up again. He was grateful to have the coffee to sip while he steeled himself to get through the rest. "I already suspected she was no longer alive."

"But you couldn't have known about the ghast."

He shrugged acknowledgment. "It wasn't just her. Ghasts also killed Andrew and Zophar." He explained the circumstances, trying to keep it low-key. The amulet hadn't saved them. He'd managed to survive ghast attacks so far, and the wormhole in Arkham was now sealed, but the cult was still out there.

"You haven't mentioned your father. Did you discover who he was?"

"Would you believe Montgomery Clift?"

She stared at him. After hearing about the horrors inflicted on his family, she must have thought he'd gone over the edge. "Is this a way of coping? Dreaming about who we'd like our parents to be?"

He shook his head. "No, but in a way that's what my mom did." As Sara gazed at him in shock, he told her about Zophar and the agreement they'd made. Once she knew about Zophar, telling her about Andrew's visit to Celaeno and how he'd been genetically altered was not so difficult.

"My mind keeps going back to my mom, and what kind of life she must have had. She was living with her dad in hiding. Did she attend college under an alias? She may not have been allowed to date much if at all. Then having sex with someone she didn't love . . . She was only twenty-one at the time."

Sara considered for a moment. "I'm trying to picture how I would have felt. I think I would have been thrilled and honored at Zophar's offer."

"You would?"

She nodded slowly. "He gave her an amazing gift—the chance to do something which could impact Earth's future. I think the manner in which it was done was beautiful. He allowed her to live out a fantasy." She reached over for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Her life must have been a lonely one. Those years you and she had together were the happiest of her life, I _know_ that."

Neal hoped she was right. Clearing his throat, he said, "You're my cold case expert. We can now update our files on Laban, Zophar, Andrew, and Melina. We don't know the details but we know who the murderers were. That's major progress."

"How I wish I could interrogate the librarian!"

"You and me both. When Zophar returned to Celaeno and found that the crystal manuscript had been stolen, he reported that the library was in ruins and there was no trace of the librarian."

"We don't know for sure that everything escaped the destruction. How much time did Zophar take to comb through the wreckage? Is there any way we could visit the ruins?"

 _W_ _e?_ That didn't sound like someone who wanted to distance herself from him. Neal's heart lifted even as he felt he should push her away to keep her safe. "Peter made the same point to me in the car as we drove back to the university this morning, but that route's closed to us. The librarian had given instructions to have the planet sealed off if the Ymar ever penetrated its defenses."

Sara's eyes widened. "That's possible?"

Neal nodded. "The Meropians had been given a fail-safe device to use. But that doesn't mean we don't have any resources to draw upon. The librarian told Zophar that several times in the past, Celaenians had visited Earth. On a few occasions they'd left behind devices and instructions for future generations. I guess you could call them a type of insurance policy. At the time they shed their corporeal forms, they believed the Ymar could no longer enter our galaxy. But they couldn't be one hundred percent certain. They left samples of their DNA to be used by the librarian at its discretion so that others would be able to access the materials."

"And now that DNA's in you." Her face grew troubled. "You've been abducted twice. How are we going to keep you safe?"

There was that _we_ again. Although her use of it was keeping his warm glow alive, he was wary of the thought behind it. Mozzie and he had discussed it at length last night. Given his family history, the group could go overboard in their efforts to keep him safe, and that would increase the danger to themselves. That was the last thing he wanted. _Show no fear_ was his new motto. Mozzie had pointed the way. If he acted self-confident, the others wouldn't stress as much. And if he didn't actually feel it, he could fake it.

"The ghasts will have a tough time messing with me." He patted his amulet through his shirt.

"But that amulet won't help off-world," she pointed out.

"I'm still here, aren't I? The priest could have killed me on Leng, but he didn't. Same thing with Sornoth. The inescapable conclusion is that they want me alive." Well, maybe a bit of a stretch, but Sara seemed to be responding well to his new cocky image. "We can make use of that. And in the meantime, Peter's archaeologist fingers are itching to uncover traces of those earlier civilizations. If we can unearth their sites, we may discover ways to defeat them. We already have one of the devices the Celaenians left—the armillary sphere. We're meeting tonight to discuss it. Would you like to come?"

Her face lit up. "You couldn't keep me away!"

He glanced at the clock on his desk. "We have time for an early supper before our meeting."

"And now you can read my mind. Your telepathic abilities must be increasing at quantum speed." She paused, her eyes crinkling mischievously. "Can you wiggle your nose and teleport us there instantly?"

He gave her the full force of his extraterrestrial glare. "I may have alien blood, but I'm _not_ a witch."

She leaned forward and gazed deep into his eyes, causing the room temperature to increase by several degrees. "Are you sure? Samantha in _Bewitched_ could be your cousin. We should ask Lavinia."

"You do that. Make sure I'm around to hear what she says." Neal glanced down at his right palm then lifted his hand. Pointing his fingers at the bookcase, he twisted his face into a look of intense concentration.

"What are you doing?"

He exhaled noisily. "I was sure I could blast thunderbolts from my fingers."

She laughed delightedly. "Give it time! Sunday was the first day you could read Celaenian. You may need an extra day for thunderbolts." She gasped, her eyes widening.

"What?"

"Will you be able to shapeshift?" She traced an invisible line in the air with her index finger. "I can see it now. Neal Carter, linguistics professor and Miskatonic's resident shapeshifter."

He grinned. "I think I'd like that. Who should I shapeshift into?"

"Hmm." She studied him for a moment. "Batman? No, this calls for Superman. Then you could fly! I'll be your Lois Lane, only I'd be far more capable."

"You realize you may not be able to publish anything for years, maybe decades."

"Then I'll tweak the accounts and write science fiction," she countered promptly.

As Neal retrieved her coat from the row of hooks next to the door, she asked, "Should we pick up June on our way to the meeting?"

"No need. She and Cyrus are having dinner together."

Sara turned to beam at him. "A promising sign! Can we call them a couple? Our first matchmaking success?"

"So far so good, although I don't think we can claim much credit."

"That shows why you need me on the team. Your logic is skewed. If it weren't for algolnium, June and Cyrus might never have met. I'm not sure what I did to help, but I'm convinced I played a pivotal role."

As they walked downstairs, he asked her about their other matchmaking effort. Sara had promised to speak with Diana about Jack. Was there a future for the coffeehouse owner with the police detective?

She stopped short and made a face. "It slipped my mind to tell you. I'm afraid there's a complication. Our first joint matchmaking attempt crashed and burned. Diana's not interested in men. I've already told Jack and he's taking it well. He said it helps to know that it wasn't anything specific against him."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter, El, Mozzie, June, and Cyrus were already present when Neal and Sara arrived at the chemistry lab that evening. Mozzie had placed the armillary sphere on the center of one of the long lab tables. Evidently Mozzie's cat had decided to be its guardian. Betelgeuse was curled up next to it. When Mozzie was away, Cyrus took care of the tabby. As a result he felt equally at home in Cyrus's lab and Mozzie's office.

Neal stopped to stroke the cat's sleek fur. Late last night when he'd flopped on Mozzie's old leather couch, Betelgeuse had jumped on top of him. Neal hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep, but a few minutes of the tabby's rumbling purrs had done the trick. "Has Lavinia tested you too?" he murmured.

Betelgeuse gave a smug _murf_ as if he understood, but he didn't transmit any messages. Neal had been able to communicate with the shilkas on Merope. Did he have the ability only on Merope or was there something special about that species? Phineas could communicate with chittaks. Would he be able to as well?

Neal took the opportunity before Lavinia and Talmadge arrived to thank the group for coming.

"I'm sure I speak for all of us," Mozzie said expansively, "when I say our lives have been transformed for the better. We're privileged to embark upon a mission to safeguard Earth for generations to come. And I have every confidence in our success. Neal, you have an advantage over your parents, and that's us. We're the secret weapon the Ymar don't know about and which will inevitably lead to their destruction." Mozzie didn't stop there. He was still expounding on his belief that their group held the fate of the entire universe in their hands—a terrifying thought if ever there was one—when Lavinia and Talmadge appeared.

It was Talmadge's first time to see the armillary sphere. He took a seat on a lab stool and lifted the sphere to examine the under surface of the rings. Lavinia sat beside him. Betelgeuse had gotten up when they arrived. After a leisurely stretch, he sauntered over to Lavinia and leaped onto her lap. Lavinia welcomed him with a scratch behind the ears. Neal had noticed the previous night how friendly Satchmo had been with her. She appeared to have a special rapport with animals.

"It was only when the ghast tried to steal the sphere from the Nautical Shop that we became aware of its significance," Talmadge admitted.

"Zophar hadn't mentioned it?" El asked.

"Not a word. He may have meant to but died before he had the chance. I returned to our home base to research the sphere but could uncover only limited documentation of Zophar's work. There was nothing about this instrument."

"We realized we needed to redouble our efforts when Neal detected the Celaenian script on the rings," Lavinia added. "I called upon a colleague to comb through our records for anything which could be relevant. Last week she discovered that Zophar had left additional notes." Lavinia paused to take a deep breath, her expression turning grim. "The file had been miscataloged by a library assistant. If it weren't for the diligence of my colleague, it would never have been discovered."

"Once Peter and Neal returned from Merope, I headed to our home world to retrieve the information," Talmadge said. "The records are particularly relevant to what happened when Neal was a child. In 1959, when Neal was six, Andrew was inadvertently pulled into a wormhole in Boston."

"How?" Mozzie demanded. "Did it spontaneously form while he was taking a stroll?"

Talmadge gave a brief chuckle. "Not quite. From the sound of it, the circumstances were reminiscent of what happened to Neal at St. Jude's Church. Andrew saw a nightgaunt in the sky which led him to a deserted house. There he found a ruby crystal in a metal chest, similar to the crystal which Neal discovered on the church altar. Andrew was sucked via the crystal into a wormhole. He emerged in the frozen monastery of Leng. The house was no doubt being used as a meeting place for a branch of the Starry Wisdom cult."

"Was the high priest there to greet him?" Peter asked.

"No, but two gugs were. They dwell in an underground city which lies under Leng. That staircase you spotted behind the monastery altar leads directly to their city. Andrew was carried off by the gugs and taken to their city. Fortunately, Zophar had followed Andrew and was able to enter the same wormhole. He rescued Andrew but their journey back to Earth was a long one. During the course of their travels, Andrew chanced upon the armillary sphere. Zophar knew nothing about the sphere, but Andrew was fascinated by the object and decided to bring it back with him."

"Where did they find it?" Neal asked.

"In Azathoth's fortress, high in the northern mountains of Tirelia."

Neal had never heard of Tirelia, but Lavinia answered his unspoken question before he could ask.

"You've grown familiar with the term A-Brane, Mozzie's term for a parallel universe. There is one planet in the A-Brane which resides in close proximity to Earth, and that is Tirelia." She flicked a glance at Mozzie. "You can think of Tirelia and Earth as residing on opposite ends of a node which connects the two branes. Neal has already been there. The monastery of Leng and the underground city of the gugs are both on that planet. It's also the home world to ghasts, nightgaunts, zoogs, and many other creatures, not all of whom are hostile to you."

"Could Andrew read the writing on the armillary sphere?" Peter asked.

Talmadge shook his head. "Zophar made no mention of it, so I assume not. Remember that Andrew had not been exposed to algolnium or to the crystal manuscript. Zophar commented in his notes that he was perplexed by Andrew's fascination for the object. Now that we know it was created by Celaenians, we believe that was the cause."

"Like I was drawn to the crystal manuscript?" Neal suggested.

Talmadge nodded. "Zophar also noted that Andrew began dreaming about Lyon. Zophar believed that Andrew was dreaming about the trip he and Laban had taken to the city. That was when Laban purchased the compendium."

"Do you know why they went to Lyon?" El asked.

"Laban didn't mention it," Talmadge admitted.

"Lyon has many archaeological sites in the vicinity," Peter noted. "Perhaps Laban was in town to research a future dig."

Neal had provided copies of his translation of the script on the armillary sphere, and Cyrus read it aloud. "Seek the answers to your questions in Lyon. Go to the lion's lair on the hill that prays and place your hand on the tuft of his tail. The serpent flies overhead."

Cyrus put the sheet of paper down on the table. "The reference to Lyon is understandable. Heinrich Agrippa used to own the armillary sphere. He lived in Lyon, so the solution to the riddle likely has some connection to Agrippa. Has anyone heard of the hill that prays?"

"It's also called Fourvière," Peter supplied. "It's immediately west of the oldest section of town—Vieux Lyon—and the location of extensive Roman ruins. When I was an undergrad, I participated in an excavation of a theater dating back to 15 BC on that hill. It became known as the hill that prays during the Middle Ages because of the numerous churches which were built there. That's something Agrippa would have been quite familiar with."

"What about the lion and the winged serpent?" Sara asked. "Any guesses?"

"A lion is the symbol for Lyon," Peter said. "Lion statues are scattered throughout the city. I suppose one of them could contain a clue."

"That reference to winged serpent sounds like a warning to me," El said. "Likely about the Ymar. Nightgaunts are associated with the Starry Wisdom cult. Perhaps the winged serpent is another name for nightgaunt."

Neal glanced at Peter before speaking and they exchanged nods. Telepathy wasn't necessary. The road ahead was well marked. "The script says I should seek for answers in Lyon and I intend to do just that."

"And I'll go with him," Peter added.

"And this time you won't be leaving me behind," El declared.

"Or me either!" Mozzie said.

"There will be ample funds," Talmadge assured them with a smile. "Earlier I'd believed Abydos should be our first destination, but it's clear Lyon must take precedence."

After his announcement, the meeting broke into excited discussion groups. Mozzie, Cyrus, and June plied Lavinia with questions. El was conducting a heated exchange with Peter. By the way she was shooting looks at Mozzie, Peter must have told her about the algolnium Mozzie had acquired. Neal planned to stay far away from that controversy. Sara had buttonholed Talmadge. She likely was making her best case for why an investigative reporter should be included in the trip to Lyon.

Neal was in no hurry to get up. All those years Lavinia had been keeping watch over him . . . When he was a child he'd longed for a Mother Thing like Kip had in _Have Space Suit—Will Travel_. Someone who'd be there for him. In a very real sense, Lavinia had volunteered to be his Mother Thing. How could he ever repay the debt he owed her and Phineas?

"Attention, everyone!" Mozzie called out with a clap of his hands. "Tomorrow we'll commence the work of plotting our future course, but tonight we should pause to toast our new collaboration. June, Cyrus, and I have prepared a small surprise for you on the roof."

Mozzie led the way upstairs. His quarters were located on the top floor of the science building and contained a spiral staircase giving direct access to the roof and its observatory.

Sara caught up with Neal on the staircase. "What are you humming?"

"It's a song Jack and I've been working on for Mozzie's book-signing party—'Carry On' by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The lyrics speak of a new era. Not a bad slogan for Mozzie's book or our lives. Would you like to learn it?"

"If I survive 'Mockingbird,' that can be our next project. The lyrics are particularly appropriate for tonight— with all the questions and speculation about the future."

He glanced at her and raised a brow. "You didn't mention the line about love coming to us all? Usually you'd pounce on that to tease me."

She grinned. "Exactly! That was the problem. I've become too predictable. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't add some mystery in your life?"

Two could play that game. Sara hadn't use the term _fake girlfriend_ like she normally did to describe herself. Was that another hint to not take anything for granted? 

The party planners had set up tables and folding chairs on the roof. June and Cyrus had prepared an assortment of finger foods and there was enough champagne in ice buckets for two times their number. For lights, Mozzie used the red lanterns he kept for his astronomy classes. The night was crystalline clear and unusually warm. Even the weather appeared to herald their new venture.

Mozzie started the proceedings by making a toast to the Pleiades. They raised their glasses to the star cluster glittering almost directly overhead in the constellation Taurus—the home of both Merope and Celaeno.

Peter walked over to stand beside him. "It seems incredible that we were there."

"Someday we'll return. I'd like to go to Celaeno as well."

"That planet is closed."

Neal turned to face Talmadge who'd come up from behind. "For now, it is," he corrected. "What happened to the crystal manuscript?"

"It's in Lavinia's office. We'll show it to you if you like. It's a shriveled, blackened relic at this point."

"Keep it safe," Neal urged. "You thought I might have been the one who destroyed it. Perhaps someday I can restore it."

Talmadge looked at him curiously. "Do you sense something?"

"No, it's just a feeling. We should keep all options open."

"I agree," Peter said, "as well as maintain our vigilance."

Talmadge nodded thoughtfully. "I'll return it to the Shrewsbury cabinet."

"How about the armillary sphere?" Peter asked. "Should it be stored in the vault as well?"

"That would be best." Talmadge nodded in Mozzie's direction. "If I can persuade the owner to part with it. I'll also mark it with a locator signal. That way, if it is ever stolen, we'll be able to trace it."

"Can you do the same thing with Neal?"

"Peter!"

His overly protective friend glared back at him. "Need I remind you how many times you've been abducted?"

"I'm siding with Peter on this," Talmadge said. "I'll research it when I return to our home base. There may be a way." He glanced over at the others who were chatting by the snack tables. "I'm glad Mozzie arranged the party, but there's no escape from the dangers you'll face. Neal, Azathoth appears to have changed his strategy since the years when he had your parents murdered. The Ymar know the amulet protects you from ghasts on Earth, but they also realize your abilities have increased. I assure you that they're aware you were able to seal the wormhole in the crypt. Do they realize you were also the one who sealed the Providence portal? The Ymar can't enter wormholes for now, but that situation could change. With zoogs as their allies, the Starry Wisdom cult continues to amass power."

Neal glanced at his friends, his eyes lingering on Sara. They were making targets of themselves, too. For a moment the fear and anger simmering inside rose back to the surface. He turned to Talmadge. "El thought the winged serpent reference could indicate nightgaunts. It could also be something bred by the Ymar." He lowered his voice. "Like Sornoth was."

"That's my fear," he admitted.

El walked over to join them. "I hope you three aren't discussing anything serious." From the pointed look she gave them, it was clear she already knew the answer. "As I recall, Mozzie said we were to take a break tonight."

Peter gave a rueful smile. "You caught us." He turned toward the group and called out, "Mozzie, didn't you tell me in the hospital that you and Neal had a dance? How about a demonstration?"

"It's the perfect moment," he declared. "Neal and I invented this dance when he was thirteen. June and Byron used to dance it with us. It's called the Cosmic Glide. It may be the only cosmologically significant dance ever created."

"What song do you dance to?" El asked.

Neal froze in place. They couldn't possibly use that song. Not in the present company. June flashed him a warning look. She also realized the danger.

Mozzie didn't appear to be concerned. He was already warming up. "The finger snaps represent quasars coming to life. Foot stomps are new galaxies while claps represent black holes popping into existence. Shoulder shakes are supernovas, and the all-important hip gyrations are gravitational waves."

Neal needed to come up with something—anything—before Mozzie started. The song he'd been humming earlier in the stairwell could work . . . The beat was somewhat similar and the lyrics weren't a horrible fit. When Neal started to sing "Carry On," June stepped up to harmonize with him. Mozzie looked a little baffled by the change, but got into the altered beat with only a few misplaced claps.

Before long, the entire group was snapping fingers, clapping, and shaking out gravitational waves. Sara might not be able to sing in tune, but dancing was another story. The others got into the mood as well. June coaxed Talmadge to dance with her and Cyrus. Peter added his baritone to the mix while he and El glided to the beat. The sight of Mozzie trying to teach Lavinia the movements would be indelibly etched into Neal's brain. And most important of all—intergalactic peace was maintained.

After the dance, June and Cyrus pulled up chairs to sit with Lavinia, Talmadge, and Mozzie. Neal saw El and Sara talking by the refreshment table.

He drifted away from the others to gaze once more at the Pleiades. Would he ever dance with Sara, just the two of them under the stars? A slow dance. He'd murmur Don McLean's song about starry nights while he held her close. Nights were meant for dreaming.

McLean's lyrics turned dark toward the end of the song when he reflected on Vincent Van Gogh's death. Was Neal's song also destined to end in sadness? Would it be better for Sara if he kept that dance a moonlight fantasy?

Peter strolled over to stand beside him. "Interesting choice of song. It was a favorite of my brother Tommy. In the last letter he wrote me before he died, he asked me to send him the record to the Philippines."

"I'm sorry. I didn't intend to dredge up sad memories."

He smiled and shook his head. "Just the opposite. You gave it a new spin. Now whenever I hear it, I'll want to dance. That's a good thing."

"In that case I'll be sure to sing it often."

He chuckled. "Just not on campus. Neither one of our reputations might survive the hit." He took a sip of champagne. "That song is puzzling, though. As I recall, it was released the same year Tommy wrote me. That was when you were a college freshman. Mozzie said you were thirteen when you invented the dance. You haven't been engaging in time travel, have you?"

"Not me. It was a last minute substitute," Neal admitted. "I couldn't use the original song."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want to risk offending our allies."

Peter stared at him then a smile slowly spread over his face. "You didn't . . . ?"

Neal shrugged. "I was only a kid, and I did love that song."

Peter snorted. "I should have suspected it."

"Now you know our dark secret. Mozzie and I used to sing 'Purple People Eater' while dancing the Cosmic Glide under the stars. Peter, we don't know what Lavinia and Talmadge really look like. They could be one-eyed, one-horned flying purple aliens. I couldn't take the risk."

He pursed his lips for a moment, attempting to look serious. "You realize that means you could be as well."

Neal broke into a smile. "I'll adjust."

"I'm glad to hear it." His expression grew thoughtful. "All joking aside, I'm impressed at how well you've accepted it."

"Being comfortable in my own skin, whatever it is?" Neal's eyes rested on Sara for a moment. "As we walked upstairs, I found myself thinking about Charlene. I'll address her Middle-earth group in a couple of days. I don't want her to ever be threatened by real creatures who are worse than the orcs and goblins Tolkien wrote about."

"Keep monsters the stuff of fantasies and horror stories?"

Neal nodded. "We got our band. We got our mission."

"Is that what you're calling us? A band?"

"I like the sound of it. Mozzie's term of Algolnium Web is too ominous."

"Did I hear my name?" Mozzie approached with a bottle of champagne. "You need refills." He topped off both their glasses. "I may be able to address one of your mysteries."

"Which one?" Neal asked.

"Why the species on Merope were so similar to Earth's species. Talmadge just confirmed I'm on the right track on my latest theory about gravitational waves." His eyes twinkled at Neal's audible gulp. "I'll spare you the technical analysis, but you'll surely recall Lavinia mentioning that Earth is linked to Tirelia via a node. I posit that troughs in gravitational waves lend themselves to node formation which in turn enables wormholes. What if Merope exists on a gravitational wave node linking our worlds? That could explain the similarities in planetary conditions. Tunnels between the worlds could enable species migration. Perhaps not now but in the past."

"Not only that," Peter added. "Those equations on the armillary sphere could somehow be linked to wormhole formation."

Mozzie nodded. "Precisely." He turned to Neal. "I heard you refer to us as a band. I approve of the change. Andrew stole the armillary sphere. Our band of thieves will snatch wormholes away from the Ymar. Astrophysics has much in common with the art of being a thief. All those atoms stealing particles from each other."

Peter raised his glass to him. "I like your attitude. Archeologists have been called thieves as well. When I excavate a tomb, any lingering spirits must consider me no better than a cat burglar. The Celaenians didn't use guns. We have our brains and our wits to outfox whatever the Ymar throw at us."

"Plus you have the most powerful gift of all—language," Talmadge said, striding over. "Tongues can overwhelm any other weapon."

"What about you?" Neal asked. "Are you going to stay Talmadge for a while?"

"I plan to. I'll need to coordinate matters with the university and supply funding. I predict that after Phineas gives his lecture tomorrow night, he'll return to the Amazon, where he may be lost for several months."

Neal glanced around the roof. Mozzie, El, Peter, Cyrus, Sara, June, Lavinia, Talmadge—a tiny band to thwart an invasion of hostile aliens. What would the future hold for them?

They'd taken their first steps. He knew who he was, and at this moment in the company of his friends, anything seemed possible. Even a galactic thief.

 

* * *

_Notes:  Thanks for reading! Neal and his friends will take that trip to Lyon in my next story in the series, Lion's Lair. And although they'll be focused on the significance of the lion in the riddle, a leopard will also be on their minds as Neal begins to experience the effects of Sornoth's attack._

_Starting on February 14, I'll return to the normal timeline with my next story, Dark Rabbit. While Diana's been posting Cinereous Skies, Neal finished a forgery of the Braque painting. The U-boat con is about to begin. Peter worries if Neal is sufficiently healed after the events in Nocturne in Black and Gold. Neal's more concerned about Diana—she's grown suspicious of the mysterious road trips he and Peter have been taking. This story also features Neal's cousin Angela Caffrey. In Penna's latest vignette, "Grandmother's House," she describes how Neal reconnected with Angela shortly after he began work at the FBI. In my story, their connection will be put to the test. My blog post this week,[Destination: Dark Rabbit](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2018/02/destination-dark-rabbit.html), summarizes the status of the characters at the beginning of the story. I've also added pins for the first chapter on the Dark Rabbit board of our Pinterest website._

_Peter tossed out his final messages for Rolf to ponder in the final chapter of Cinereous Skies. Just what kind of new day is he talking about? That line about being galactic thieves has to be an unmistakable signal, right? Rolf's brother Klaus is seething over the depiction of Sornoth. Their response will be unveiled in the story after Dark Rabbit, Harlequin's Shadow, which I'll begin posting in April._

_Till next time!_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Cinereous Skies board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website:[www.pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_  
_New pins include Neal and Mozzie's dance and the music mentioned in this chapter._


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